


A Storm of Vigilantism

by SuleikasGhosts13



Series: Beyond the Storm [4]
Category: Batman Beyond, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Age Difference, Age of Consent, Body Horror, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cameos, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, DCAU Jason Todd, Duke Thomas is Signal, Eye Trauma, F/F, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Bad at Feelings, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is So Done, Joker is a Bad Parent, Like really slow, M/M, Man-Bat Transformations, Matt McGinnis Plays Matchmaker, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Tim Drake, Relationship Discussions, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Terry McGinnis is Batman, Terry is a College Senior, The Savage Skull/Jack Crane (Batman), Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuleikasGhosts13/pseuds/SuleikasGhosts13
Summary: The Red Hood returns to Gotham for unfinished business.After decades of hunting down copycats, he believes he's finally found the original Harley Quinn.Meanwhile, a disaster rocks Gotham. The McGinnis family are left to pick up the pieces.EDIT: The "E" rating comes into play after Chapter 5.Revisions were made to Chapter 4 to include the new canon.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Mary McGinnis, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Terry McGinnis/Jason Todd
Series: Beyond the Storm [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853740
Comments: 61
Kudos: 44





	1. Above Green Dragon Lane

**Author's Note:**

> This is DCAU Jason Todd, as seen in Batman The Adventures Continue. 
> 
> But because he's basically a blank slate in the continuity, I'm grabbing stuff from other media.
> 
> Also, we'll be exploring the complicated history of how the Jokerz came to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First explicit fanfic!  
> And it's for a crack ship!  
> Which turned very serious, omg, I am sorry.

You know that pre-dawn moment, when everything was still dark but the birds are starting to scream their heads off?

Jason _loved_ that moment. It was that rare time of Gotham peace, after the last of the pub crawlers went home and before the rush of morning commuters. No stress, no expectations, and no playing games of _Is That Fireworks or Gunshots?_

Even the gay bar below his apartment had grown quiet. The Pink Dragon Tavern (formerly the _Green_ Dragon Tavern before the new owners and before Boston threw a fit) held a reputation for rambunctious crowds that partied late into the a.m. hours. It was also known as a political hotbed, a rallying point for college-age activism.

Rent was dirt cheap and he was mainly out on patrol during their business hours, so Jason didn't mind the noise. Living above such a rowdy establishment also meant that nobody ever minded him.

Some nights, though, he'd make a pit stop inside and chat up his favorite bartender, Carl. They both belonged to _Pink's_ older crowd, the kind who mainly frequented the barstools in the early evening and left long before eleven. They both escaped Crime Alley, only to find themselves, later in life, back in this shithole neighborhood. But when Jason tried asking him out, he was squarely shut down. Carl must've smelled a trauma case a mile away.

Oh well, it wasn't as if other men weren't interested. He was relatively attractive for a middle-aged man, still ridiculously ripped and with a perky ass. Not as nice as Dickie's, but that didn't stop people from second glancing.

_"Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday, Dear Frankie..."_

And that's how a Gotham University senior ended up naked in his rickety bed, snoring softly. While his rather large group of friends drunkenly sang to another student, this dark-haired stud couldn't keep his eyes off Jason. After several minutes, he couldn't stand it any longer. He approached the kid.

_"Like what you see?"_

The twenty-something blushed furiously as his classmates hoot and hollered. A woman with dyed pink hair slapped his shoulder in encouragement. Finally, he responded with, _"Can I buy you a drink?"_

 _"Hmm,_ can _you?"_ Jason never passed up an opportunity for sarcasm, but that seemed to only encourage the stranger.

One drink turned into two which turned into three before Jason accepted the newcomer's- _Terry_ , he suddenly recalls- invitation to dance. That dance started off chaste, but it certainly didn't stay that way. As the the live-band played on, Terry wrapped his arms around Jason's shoulders and grinded against his body. He couldn't remember when they began kissing; one moment, they were laughing and the next, his partner had his tongue down his throat.

_"My God, McGinnis- GET A FUCKING ROOM!"_ Shouted a burly brunette in a sports jersey.

Terry gave him such a mischievous grin, Jason knew he was fucked. Quite literally, actually: He bottomed.

As the outside world brightened, Jason lifted his arms above his head and stretched. He rolled his shoulders and laid back down. He wasn't expected anywhere on a Saturday morning, he could lounge.

Instead, he examined the damage. Apparently Terry loved making a mess: hickies and scratches trailed down from his jawline to his groin. He _could_ hide them with a sweater- the late September weather was cool enough.

Jason ran a finger over his Y-incision scar, now covered with bruises, something he deeply appreciated. He was sensitive about the multiple autopsy scars scattered cross his frame. It had taken years before he was completely comfortable being shirtless with another person.

Terry groaned, flipping over. He curled into Jason's chest, his arm crawling across his stomach. Chuckling, Jason threw an arm around his shoulder, drawing him closer. Seriously, this guy was cute.

Their tranquility was interrupted by the text alarm on Terry's phone. Jason was content to ignore it until it started blowing up. "Terry?" He tried to nudge him awake, but got no response. With a grunt, he leaned over to the bedside table, grabbing the offending device.

Terry's lockscreen was of a handsome black Great Dane wearing red sunglasses. He quickly hacked into it and brought up the messages. They all came from someone named "Matt."

**matt: Still Alive?**

**matt: mom wants to know**

**matt: Max told us you went home with an older guy last night**

**matt: lmao, when she mentioned HOW OLD mom went**

**matt: (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻**

**matt: you are SO getting lectured when you get home**

**matt: rip**

**matt: then she'll probably ask if he has a brother, if he's as hot as max says**

**matt: was he hot?**

**matt: ah come on, let me know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere**

Jason rolled his eyes and hastily replied.

**terry: Terry's asleep. If your mother's concerned, we're still at the apartment above Pink Dragon.**

**matt: ಠᴥಠ omg**

**matt: when he DOES wake up**

**matt: tell him mom wants to "chat"**

"-'Orning," his partner yawned, slowly opening his eyes. He frowned, "Whaddaya doing with meh phone?"

"Sorry. Your family's been trying to get in touch," Jason handed it to him. "They're worried about you, and you didn't wake up when I tried."

Terry read through his texts, raising an eyebrow. "I see the twip's playing matchmaker again. One moment." The blankets fell as he sat up.

"H-hey, Mom," he said groggily, stretching. A pause, then, "Yeah, I'm safe. Sorry about that." Pause. "No, I didn't have that much alcohol last night-" Yet another pause, possibly he was getting chewed out. "Can we not do this right now? I'll talk to you later."

Terry hung up and turned to Jason. "You'd think I was fourteen instead of twenty-four; the way she talks to me sometimes," he added irritably.

"She obviously cares about you," Jason said, running a finger down Terry's spine. His breath hitched. "You're lucky to have her."

_Mine sold me out to the Joker,_ he thought bitterly.

"I know," Terry sighed, leaning back into the touch. "I just don't see how I did anything wrong?"

Jason pulled him back into his embrace, kissing the skin behind his ear. "You didn't. Chalk it up to power dynamics."

"Huh?"

"If we were in a relationship, people'll assume I'm controlling you, because you're significantly younger than I," Jason explained, sighing. "They're not wrong; there's a lot of predators out there." He's certainly beaten the crap out of a few.

"Would you- would you even be open to a relationship?" Terry asked, bashful. His face went beet-red.

"Hmm?"

"I mean," he continued, "last night was amazing- **_you_** were amazing. If you wanted to keep this a one time thing, I'd understand but- I'd also really like to get to know you better."

_Frickin adorable,_ Jason couldn't help but think. He kissed Terry's cheek as he considered. "While I- I'm not _opposed_ to the idea, Terry- I haven't been _with_ someone in a very long time."

_Not since Roy._

"If you can tolerate a literal workaholic, you should be good," Terry insisted. "Besides, we can take this as slow as you need it to be."

_Goddamn it, this kid really has it bad._

Jason exhaled, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Terry's wide smile matching his own, "but as you say, we'll take it slow."

"There's a food truck festival next weekend," he offered in return. "I'm suppose to take my little brother to it. How about meeting up on Sunday and just... grab junk food?"

"Sounds good."

"Thank you, James." Terry's fingers entangled in his gray hair as he drew him into a deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Frankie is Frankie Lewis from "The Eggbaby" episode.
> 
> 2) The Pink Dragon was inspired by several real pubs. The Green Dragon Tavern is a historical bar in Boston, famous for being a gathering place for the Sons of Liberty. On the flip side, a lot of students hung out at the gay bar across the street from the college I attended.
> 
> 3) I hope Jason isn't too OOC, this is the first time I've written him. The snark will increase in future chapters.


	2. The Hunt

The car door slammed as Commissioner Gordon slid into the passenger seat. "Does Bruce know you're back in town?"

Jason only glanced at her, taking a long drag off his cigarette. Then- "Nope, not yet. And I'd prefer it to stay that way, if it's at all possible."

Barbara sighed. She was in no mood to argue. She'd spotted her former comrade stationed across the street from a crime scene, watching the police cordoned the area off like a hawk. Bodega robbery gone wrong.

"What identity are you using this time?"

"James Macpherson," he smiled, "Private Investigator."

"Is that just a cover or are you actually working as a P.I.?" She raised her eyebrow.

"Gotta pay the rent somehow," he laughed. When she didn't even smirk, he sighed, scratching his scalp. "Don't worry, Babs, I plan to 'behave.'"

"You'd better." As much as she sympathized with Jason, his particular brand of vigilantism couldn't be tolerated on her streets. "As long as I don't find your handiwork in the city morgue-"

"You won't send me back to a padded cell in Arkham, I know," he snapped. "Anyways, I can't act as reckless as I used to. Going out on patrol's been getting harder. That little green bath may have slowed my aging, but it didn't stop it completely." 

Barbara could see that. While Jason was spared the wrath of wrinkles that the other Bat family members found, his hair had turned a dark gray. He still sported a shock of white bangs, courtesy of his dip in the Lazarus Pit.

The Commissioner visibly relaxed. Maybe Time did what the psychiatric hospitals could not, and tame the Red Hood's bloodlust. _Maybe._

"Why are you in Gotham, Jason?"

He passed a manilla folder to her. Inside were police reports and pictures of a group of Jokerz.

"Two months ago, this pathetic bunch came to Midway City to stir up trouble with a rival gang. Easy fix, nothing really of note _except_ this woman," he tapped a mugshot of a girl dressed in purple and yellow, "let slip something you'd find interesting."

He pulled out a camera from his jacket. In the video, the teenager was handcuffed and leaning against the dirty brick of a back alley wall. Red Hood must've sensed this was a low-level newbie, because she only carried a bruise on her cheek and a split lip. She looked terrified.

"Okay, kiddo, tell the cam what you told me," Jason snarled.

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "It was right after my initiation. Our chapter went back to this abandoned slaughterhouse in Gotham to party with the rest of the Jokerz. Some nights, there's hundreds of them.

"Anywho, I'm getting busy with a schway-colored bong when this old hag comes stomping through our doors. I asked Pipsqueak, 'who's this broad?' but he tells me to shut it.

"The bitty makes a beeline for these sisters, you see- I've never really talked to them before, I don't know their names- and starts _scolding_ them. Imagine! Then she drags 'em out and we haven't seen those two since."

She lowers her voice to a whisper, "The _funny_ thing is, they kept calling her 'Nana Harley.' You know, as in _Harley Quinn_. I asked Pipsqueak if that's who I thought it was, but he just said that if I didn't want a bullet in my head, I'd mind my own beeswax."

"You're back on another goose chase. That figures," Barbara wasn't convinced. "The number of times we've dragged some smuck who claimed they were Masterpiece's niece or Yo-Yo's cousin-twice-removed into the precinct-"

"I have reason to believe this lead's legit," Jason argued. "When I tracked Pipsqueak down, I found that he'd been shanked by a T. Luckily for me, his girlfriend was more than willing to talk."

He switched to another clip. In this, the woman was tied to a chair, her pink and blue dyed hair hanging over her face. She glared at the lens with bloodshot eyes.

"Yeeeeaaah, I know who that is," she grumbled. "They run with Chucko's crowd. Name's 'Dee Dee.' Their windbag grandma comes in every once in awhile to bitch them out about 'going straight.' Looks like it finally worked, too."

Suddenly, she chuckled, "None of the bosses want us messing with her. I hear she's pretty mean with a mallet."

Barbara schooled her features, determined not to give anything away. As the Red Hood watched her intently, he pocketed the gadget, saying, "Chucko's crew have been lying low. It's only a matter of time before I find them, though. And while I could hack into GCPD's computers, I figured I'd give you a heads-up."

"You want Dee Dee's names and addresses?" The Commissioner was defiant. "I'm not going to simply give you that information."

Jason seemed disappointed, but unsurprised. "Want me to stand aside and let the Gotham pigs handle things? Fat chance."

"When was the last time you spoke with Tim?"

That threw the former Robin for a loop. "Not since Spoiler retired," he admitted sheepishly.

"Well, I recommend you remedy that. Immediately," her eyes narrowed. "The situation became a lot more complicated after you left, Jason. Although it's not my place to tell you how."

"Am I right in guessing this has something to do with the Joker impostor?" He took another puff.

Barbara wouldn't say. She exited the vehicle, leaning against the open doorframe to warn him. "I appreciate the tip, but if it pans out, I need you to let me deal with Harley Quinn. Tim doesn't deserve to be hurt again."


	3. The Madness Behind The Laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm introducing Batman characters from other media, but tweaking their origins to fit into the DCAU timeline.
> 
> We've got 40 years of unknown history between the flashbacks in Return of the Joker and Rebirth. I'm filling that up.
> 
> Hold tight: we're getting flashbacks.

"Seven years ago this very night, the Clown Prince of Crime- the Joker- was born on this spot. Since then, Gotham has repeatedly been rocked by the attacks of this criminal madman. Who is he? Where did he come from? What diabolical scheme is he plotting even now? I'm Jack Ryder. Join me as we answer these questions and more on 'Joker: The Madness Behind The Laughter.'"

Terry leaned back in his chair, chin in hand as he studied the monitor. He was watching the notorious exposé which created the superhero, the Creeper.

"His true identity unknown. Operating under a variety of aliases, a nameless gunslinger began his criminal career as a hitman for the Valestra mob. Then he struck out on his own, formed a gang-"

He sneezed. "Gaaah," he mumbled, grabbing a tissue.

"First target: the ACE Chemical Plant."

"If I'm catching a cold," Terry swore, tossing it in the basket. Ace leaned his head on Terry's lap, who scratched behind his ears.

Bruce was busy in a conference call upstairs. Apparently they were successful in developing a safer alternative to cerestone. After Big Time's accident, Terry was relieved.

"Former identity: erased. New persona: the Joker."

In the grainy footage, the Joker suddenly appeared above the oblivious reporter, waving at the camera. He, a clown in red and black which Terry assumed to be Harley Quinn, and three goons began throwing rubber chickens filled with Joker gas at the tv crew.

As the crew gasped, giggled, cried for help; Terry was immediately reminded of the night he found Bruce poisoned with laughing gas and the Batcave vandalized. Honestly, it was one of the scariest moments in his life. He thought he'd find yet another person he cared for dead, surrounded by HA! HA! graffiti. 

_"It's funny,"_ another memory seeped into his mind, _"I know all about your other major enemies, but you never mention him. He was the biggest, wasn't he?"_

 _"It wasn't a popularity contest,"_ Bruce had told him. _"He was a psychopath. A monster."_

After his run-in with the Joker-possessed Tim Drake, on this point he absolutely agreed with the old man. One-hundred percent.

After Dick showed him his bloodied and bullet-torn Nightwing suit, he made sure to lean _extra_ hard on the local Jokerz. As for the gang that ran with Joker, they went underground. Terry hadn't seen Chucko or Ghoul or anyone else for ages. He prayed they got out.

As the video ended, Terry clicked on another file: Harley Quinn. She was only the first in a legion of supervillains inspired by this lunatic. When Dr. Quinzel became Joker's psychiatrist, he twisted her mind until she became his puppet.

He was cruel to her, absolutely barbarous. Terry had seen the medical reports and photographs of the many injuries he laid on her. Thrown out a window, beaten within an inch of her life; the Joker seemed to take out all his anger and frustration on his girlfriend.

"If this tape reaches Batman, I hope it's not too late for you to help me. It's no joke: Mistah J has gone off his nut for real. Because you stopped him from killing Gordon, he says he's going to take out the whole city! I've seen the plans, the gas bombs, everything!" Harley removed her hood and domino mask, staring straight into the camera. "I finally realize this isn't funny anymore. I can help you get him, if you promise me protection."

And it didn't matter how many times she tried to turn over a new leaf, even saving the world once or twice. Something would happen that sent Harleen running back into his arms. In the end, his influence sent her over the edge of a cliff, never to be seen or heard from again.

Soon after their demise, another of Joker's victims began making trouble: Alicia Hunt, AKA Masterpiece. Her mother, also named Alicia, was one of Joker's girlfriends during his time in the Valestra mob. For years, rumors swirled around that she might've been the hitman's offspring. Instead of taking a paternity test like a normal person, Joker squirted sulfuric acid in both mother and daughter's faces.

Surprise, surprise! The DNA test came back without a match. The devastating information that this man disfigured Alicia for absolutely no reason at all drove her spiraling.

Going under a new pseudonym, Masterpiece turned to a lucrative career in bank robberies. Hers was arguably the most successful gang on the East Coast, until....

"Terry, what are you doing?"

Even in his advanced age, there was nobody who could rival Bruce Wayne's stealth. Apparently the consultation proved fruitful, as his boss was back sooner than expected.

Terry opened his mouth to release some wisecrack remark about brooding, but thought better of it. He sighed, rubbing his temple. Might as well get straight to the point.

"I hooked up yesterday," he explained. "Mom's not happy. We got into a nasty tiff."

"Is that what's troubling you? What did she say?"

"No," Terry said frankly. "She had a point, even if I'm choosing to ignore it... I believe the guy survived an encounter with the Joker. The _original_ Joker."

Bruce approached, resting a hand on the chair's back. His gaze wasn't judgemental, even though he certainly understood the implications of that statement. It was a welcomed alternative to the infamous Batglare.

"We went to Gotham's historic district to celebrate Frankie Lewis's birthday," said Terry.

"Hmm."

"Look, I know the _Pink Dragon's_ on the rougher side of gay bars, but I wasn't expecting to see someone with a gun tucked under his shirt." Terry twiddled his thumbs. "He caught me watching. Luckily, he mistook it for flirting. I- I kinda ran with it."

The younger man appeared flustered. He wasn't going to deny that he enjoyed their tryst. Heck, James let him do things Dana would've never-

_Stop._

"His body's all scarred up," Terry continued, motioning with his hand over his chest. "Old bullet wounds and stabbings- he'd been through the wringer."

Terry closed his eyes, recalling how his fingertips traced the indentations on James' skin. A shiver went up his spine.

"The city wasn't an easy place to live back then," Bruce offered when his protege grew silent. "You ran a background check on him, I assume?"

He nodded. "Everything he told me checks out. Private Investigator, no criminal record, and originally from Gotham. Didn't delve much further, it's really none of my business. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't getting involved with a serial killer or something."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "But you're curious."

"He mumbles in his sleep," Terry added ruefully. He bit the inside of his cheek before answering, "Kept muttering 'the Joker, the Joker.' The gun, the scars, the nightmares? I don't think it's too much of a leap to assume that bastard hurt him _._ "

He slammed his fist on the armrest. "I'm beginning to understand why you and Gordon avoid the subject. How could **_one man_** cause so much pain?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too happy how I wrote this chapter, but bleh- I can rewrite it in the future. 
> 
> No Beta- We die like Robins.


	4. Moon Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR SPOILER FOR  
> Batman: The Adventure Continues.  
> This chapter was originally longer, but I decided to split it into two parts.
> 
> Also, because Jason's Post-Crisis origin was partially used for Tim Drake's in the DCAU, I took inspiration from his Pre-Crisis origin.
> 
> EDIT:  
> Jason's origins in the DCAU just came out, so I returned to update this chapter.

Matt rolled his eyes. His brother was busy fixing his hair in the mirror, wearing a fancy black turtleneck underneath his skyblue trench. He, meanwhile, was killing time on his smartphone, dressed in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

**matt: terry's taking 4EVER**

**annie: if memory serves me right**

**annie: u took just as long to get ready when you went out with cindy**

**matt: and what a waste of time that turned out 2b**

Annie Drake was Matt's best friend. Terry had introduced them at one of her father's backyard barbecues a few years back and they'd immediately hit it off. Now that they were high school freshmen, they shared several classes and ate lunch together.

**annie: told u she was an idiot**

Cindy Stevens was the most attractive girl attending Hamilton Hill High. The most attractive girl who stood up Matt on their date. He hadn't forgiven her yet.

**matt: yeah well her loss**

Intending to cheer his brother up, Terry offered to treat both him and Annie to the Gotham Food Truck Festival. Matt just couldn't say no to free food.

"Alright, done!" Terry said, satisfied. He grabbed his car keys. "Ready when you are, twip."

"Finally!" Matt grabbed his jacket and shot Annie a quick text.

**matt: on our way. Be there in 15**

**annie: I'll wait outfront**

Terry's car was a sleek Foxteca Dart in black, with a "Young for District Attorney" bumper sticker. It pays to work for Bruce Wayne, because the old man co-signed the purchase.

Inside, Matt had hung a red Batman keychain on the rearview mirror. The summer heat had melted the thin plastic logo, so that it drooped sadly. It swung to- and fro as they made their way towards the Drake residence.

A pretty teenager with bobbed black hair sat on the front porch. She perked right up as she spotted the familiar Dart. "Dad, I'm leaving now!" She called inside as she locked the door.

"Hey," Matt greeted her as Annie slide beside him in the backseat.

"Hey," she returned, buckling her seatbelt. She wore a flattering flowery dress. "Hey Terry, Dad wanted me to tell you, he says hi."

His brother waved, switching on the engine. Matt never did get the whole story on how Terry met Tim Drake, brilliant engineer at WayneTech and rumored successor for CEO. Only that he pulled Annie's father out of the way as the Joker's Hyperion laser destroyed downtown Gotham.

"We're picking up a friend of mine," Terry explained, turning towards Crime Alley, "then we can hit the kiosks."

"'Friend,'" Matt signed quotation marks with his fingers.

"Shut it, armpit."

Annie giggled.

Jason stared at the pistol in his palm. He never went anywhere without at least some form of firepower. Although in the back of his mind, he knew Terry wouldn't appreciate him bringing it today.

The night they slept together, Terry had grimaced when he pulled the gun from his beltline and placed it on the bedstand.

_"It's for protection,"_ Jason told him.

 _"Protection from what?"_ Terry studied him critically.

Jason merely shrugged, _"My job can be very dangerous."_

He exhaled, stashing his firearm in his desk. He felt utterly exposed without it. Instead, he hid a knife in his boot. Plus a dozen shuriken hidden in his coat. 

_Better._

Jason heard the blasting music from the stereo long before he saw Terry's Dart pull up. It sounded like the bastard child between psychedelic dubstep and screamo that was so popular in the clubs these days. Their soundtrack died as Terry hopped out of the car.

He whistled. Terry was certainly all dolled up, cleanly shaved and with his dark hair sleeked back. His expensive clothes made him look like he just walked out of a men's fashion catalog.

In comparison, Jason felt woefully underdressed in his blue _Walden_ tee and leather jacket. He swore, after this, he'd put a little money aside to expand his wardrobe.

Before Terry made it to the top of the stairs, Jason went to meet him. He smiled, "Looking good, hot shot."

The younger man blushed. "Hello James."

Hesitantly, he reached a hand for Jason's and, grasping it, tugged his date closer. Lightly, he pressed their lips together.

He tasted like cinnamon...

"Are they _kissing?!"_ Annie squealed, leaning over Matt for a better view. "They _are._ "

As the pair separated and made their way down the balcony staircase, the teen got his first real glimpse of "James." Guy seemed rough, like Terry picked him up from motorcycle club rather than the **_Pink Dragon_**. With the way Max described him, Matt had imagined an attractive middle-aged movie star, but this man screamed "trouble."

Matt frowned. Maybe his mom had a point? Last time Terry went for a "bad boy," he ended up with a criminal record on top of his broken heart. Although he barely remembered Charlie, the heated arguments between his parents and his brother remained terrifyingly vivid.

Terry crawled into the driver's seat. "Guys, I want ya to meet James Macpherson. James, this is my brother, Matt, and Annie Drake."

"Pleasure," James shook their hands before settling into the passenger's. He glanced at Annie again, as if reminded of someone. "It's been ages since I've been to any kind of festival. You kids have any preferences?"

"We have to stop by the taiyaki booth for sure," said Annie. "Leslie and I went last year- they have red-bean, chocolate, and even cheese fillings!"

"Pinchitos, gyros, churros," Matt counted off his fingers, "oh, and Mom wants us to grab her a box of moon cookies."

"There's even a truck there that sells beondegi," Terry offered.

Annie cringed as Matt retorted, "You are literally the _only_ person in this car who likes that stuff."

"Well, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," James replied, making Terry snicker.

The GFTF was being held at Van Dorn Municipal Park. The trucks encircled the edge of the green, while stalls were lined in rows. Brightly colored signs hung above the tents, string lights canopied the visitors, and music from competing stereos blared. The atmospheric smells made Jason's mouth water.

The place was packed. Besides the hordes of customers, shopkeepers in fancy happis or customized polos were running back and forth, grabbing supplies. Barkers Matt's age passed out pamphlets, insisting that people should visit their stall. Here and there, someone was working off their college tuition dressed as a mascot.

"When it comes to grub, Metropolis' got nothing on us!" Annie chimed happily.

"Those Italian sausages are just calling our name," Matt practically bounced.

First, they grabbed smoothies, then began wandering around, taking in the sights and sounds. It was a welcomed change, to be in an environment where the folks were all so goddamn _cheerful_.

"My Dad used to bring us here when we were children," Terry said fondly, his brother several steps ahead. "Every year, we'd attend church in the morning and then gorge ourselves stupid in the afternoon."

"You were close with your father?" Jason asked.

"Very," Terry smiled. "He was always super supportive. Made it to all my games and that one year I was in theater... How about you? What was your dad like?"

Jason shrugged, "I barely knew him. Animal wrangler for the Gotham Zoo. One night, he pissed off Killer Croc, who fed him to his own reptiles."

Terry stopped dead. "I'm- um, I'm sorry. That must've been hard for you and your mother."

Jason laughed mirthlessly, "She wasn't in the picture. I only had my brother, until the streets took him too." Why was he reopening old wounds? He had a perfectly good cover story for his happy nonexistent parents. He sighed, "Terry, I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't mean to be so negative."

"Don't be." Terry shook his head furiously, "I lost my Pops to violence too: home invasion." He squeezed Jason's hand tightly. "Don't worry about upsetting me. You can talk about anything."

"Thank you." He leaned in for another kiss when Matt suddenly shouted, "Oi, James! Didn't you say you were willing to try anything? We're at the beondegi stand!"

Unbeknownst to them, at the nearby subway station, a great throng of face-painted ruffians appeared....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Beondegi is one of my top to-try foods. I saw it in Asia but never stopped to try it, which is a big regret. It is unavailable in my country.


	5. Tarrare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the fluff while you can.
> 
> After this chapter, things get incredibly dark.

When Terry mentioned that he worked as a gofer at Wayne Enterprises, Jason simply imagined he was a low-level assistant that most wouldn't spare a second glance over. Maybe he brought Tim his coffee, or documents for Rebecca Winston to sign. Maybe he ran into the old man on occasion.

He wasn't prepared for how _popular_ McGinnis was. As they struggled through the crowds, they were stopped every couple of feet by a colleague. Scientists, managers, security guards, even the custodians asked after his health and his family.

After speaking with Dr. Blades, Jason had to comment, "You're quite the celebrity, huh?"

Terry beamed, "My Dad was a highly respected researcher at Wayne-Powers. Plus, with everything my job entails, it helps to make friends in various departments."

He leaned in to whisper in Jason's ear, "I _told_ you I was a workaholic."

"I'll say," Jason chortled.

"That you, McGinnis?!" A woman's voice bayed, and their group spun around.

"Speak of the dev- oh," he began. It wasn't Terry the middle-aged Asian woman was calling to, but Matt, who embraced her warmly.

"Mouri-sensei! I didn't think you'd be back from Osaka until at least next week," he grinned.

"We finish our business early," Mouri replied. "And as beautiful as the city is this time of year, I couldn't stay away from the dojo any longer."

"It's good to see you again, Mouri-sensei," Terry greeted. "James, this is Mei Mouri. She's Matt's martial arts teacher."

"It's nice to meet you," he offered his hand. She took it.

"Likewise."

"McGinnis," she turned to Terry's little brother again, "we'll be resuming lessons next week. Should we expect to see you and Miss Stevens?"

Matthew made a face, as if something extremely unpleasant was placed under his nose.

"Something wrong?"

"She blew me off," he muttered so quietly, Jason barely caught his words. Then, tone normal, he replied, "Can't really say, Sensei. We're not on speaking terms right now."

Mouri frowned, "Oh. That's- that's too bad. Well, I hope to see you in class soon."

"Enjoy your evening, Sensei," Matt said, slightly depressed.

Dick Grayson had just finished paying for his baklava when he heard yelling at the end of their row of kiosks.

"My purse! That man just stole my purse!"

A bald man in a wife beater was pushing through the mob of shoppers, a teal bag clutched in his hand.

Dick rolled his surviving eye. "Can I leave this here for a moment?" He asked the cashier.

"Ah sure-"

He got into a fighting position. The bullet in his spine would surely protest later, but Dick figured he could handle a petty purse-snatcher.

Yet when the thief reached Dick, there came another shout from the hordes. A lithe figure in black somersaulted off a trash barrel, crashing into the culprit. With a grunt, he fell to the dirt, dropping the handbag.

"Caught ya!" Sang a blonde girl clothed in military lolita and matching cap. Then she glanced up at Dick through her domino mask. "Relax, old man. I've got this covered."

He lowered his fists, appalled. Gotham was home to a brand new, _teenaged_ vigilante.

"Ah fuck."

Annie was regaling them with the story of how her school's girls hockey team made it to the semi-finals last year. Or rather, the clusterfuck that occurred between games.

"So we get to the restaurant, and wouldn't you know, our coach realizes he left his wallet back at the hotel," she groaned. "So Dad ponies up his cash card and pays for the entire team."

Terry guffawed, "I sure hope he bought Tim a beer afterwards."

_H_ _e's on first-name basis with Replacement,_ Jason thought. An uneasiness settled in his stomach.

"But Dad doesn't drink beer! He says it tastes like pisswater."

It wasn't jealousy he was experiencing, more like paranoia. As if the old man were watching him from his Manor. Which was preposterous: this was Gotham, where you could chart people via the six degrees of Bruce Wayne. You couldn't sneeze without running into someone who shared an association.

"He's more a bourbon guy."

It had to have been a chance meeting; to think otherwise was ludicrous. If Terry had even the slightest inkling of who Jason really was, he'd never allow the Red Hood anywhere near his family and friends.

"Let me guess," Terry added with a smirk, "he mixes it with his coffee."

Jason pushed any misgivings he had to the back of his mind. This thing between him and Terry, it was new; delicate. He didn't want to destroy that due to vague suspicions.

Annie snickered, "You can pry his coffee beans from his cold dead hands."

He flung an arm over Terry's shoulders, shaking his head. He was getting as bad as Bruce.

No, there was an opportunity here, he kicked himself for not recognizing it sooner. When Terry drops him off at his apartment, he'll snatch his helmet and track them to wherever the Drakes are living now. Signal down Tim, then... they could discuss Quinn.

Howard felt like honest-to-god shit. His shift ended half-an-hour ago and, despite the sweating spell he was agonizing through, he thought he could grab dinner from the fiesta before heading home.

What a mistake _that_ was. Now he found himself hunched over by the porta potties, heaving. Definitely should've called out sick today.

"Hi, you okay?"

Howie peeked over his shoulder at a pretty olive-skinned woman in pastel scrubs. A Colombina mask concealed her eyes and she carried a med bag.

"C-could be better..."

"Here," she pulled out a bottle of water and gave it to him. "Drink. It'll help."

Terry couldn't stop grinning. Their evening was going surprisingly well. The pair spent the twenty minutes playfully arguing who was the better team, Knights or Goliaths.

The kids had run off to grab his mother's desserts, so they were afforded a moment alone. He ran a tongue over his canine before asking, "Haven't scared you off, have we?"

James laughed heartily. "Kid, it'll take a lot more than that."

"Yeah?" He tightened his hold around James' waist. "Is this something- well, would you want to go with me? Again? Hopefully soon?"

A kiss landed on his cheek. "That answer the question?"

"Oh _great,_ " said Deirdre.

" _Another_ costumed freak," said Delia.

The Dennis twins had just watched the brutal takedown of a pickpocket. This crime-fighting crusader wore vintage, disguised as a teddy girl with an Atompunk Bauta mask and wielding a baseball bat. They weren't impressed.

"Batman has cooler toys," Delia continued, tossing her long blonde hair over shoulder.

"Not to mention _style,_ " added Deirdre, wrapping her green peacoat tighter around her body.

Apparently, Raygun Gothic overhead them, because she got in their faces. "Ya bitches got somethin' ta say ta meh?"

The twins yawned. "Ask us that when you have a neat car," they said in unison.

Jason was momentarily distracted by a sizable crew of T's passing by. Under the artificial lights, their red face-paint appeared as dried blood. Wasn't this Arachnid territory?

Terry noticed as well. "Matt, Annie, it's getting pretty late. We should start heading back."

He fingered the mask hidden in his pocket. The aging vigilante couldn't expect to do much until he got them to safety.

_When we reach the car,_ Jason schemed, _I'll pretend to have dropped my wallet and turn back._

Another mass of gray-trenched hooligans walked towards them. Was this a takeover? If it were, a lot of innocent bystanders were going to be caught in the crossfire.

Terry gripped his backpack tighter, a determined expression on his face. His brother beside him grew ashen, saying anxiously, "This doesn't look good."

"No, it does not," he agreed, whipping out his phone. From Jason's vantage point, he could see him shoot off a text message.

Their group pushed through a third gaggle of gangsters when they found their way blocked. The Arachnids had finally made their presence known.

"YO LARDASS!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Batman Beyond, Vol 2, Issue #20, there's an unnamed gang with spiderweb tattoos. That's where I got Arachnids.


	6. Spiderbite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> Graphic Violence!  
> 

**terry: send units to the Food Truck Fest, a gang brawl's going down**

Barbara shut her eyes tight, pausing only for a moment before flying into action. Then she was on the radio.

"YO LARDASS!"

A horde of murderous desperados in biker gear obstructed their path. Their arms covered in spiderweb sleeves; their heavy vests well-worn and decorated with patches. A good number of their members were spliced, some to horrific results.

The Arachnid's leader marched forward; Terry eyed the machete he carried in his left hand. There were no mercy to be had in those merciless black eyes.

"WHO YOU CALLING LARDASS, FREAKSHOW!"

Terry spun around quickly. Behind them stood Fat T, who he recognized from a previous altercation as the T's boss. His wide girth threatened to pop out of his black overalls, his hands clenched in brass knuckles.

"I'M CALLING YOU LARDASS, YOU FAT FUCK!" Venom dripping from his incisors as his pinchers clacked. "VAN DORN'S ON OUR TERF!"

Civilians were yelling, fleeing from the scene, but Terry and other three were trapped in-between. He couldn't immediately see an avenue of escape.

Terry had the suit, of course; these days, he never went anywhere without it. He couldn't, however, slink away to throw it on. Just reaching into his bag was likely to get himself shot.

"NOT ANYMORE, YOU CRAZY COBWEB!" Fat T bellowed, charging with his fists held high. He looked like a frickin psycho.

Immediately, James grabbed Annie and launched her into the food truck to their left. The remaining employee caught her, falling to the floor of the vehicle.

Terry was helping his brother over the truck's counter when Matt suddenly screamed, "LOOK OUT!"

He dodged a punch aimed at his nose, ducking down and returning with a slug to the gut. The spider bastard fell to the dirt with a grunt.

"RUN!" He shouted, as the chef picked Annie up. He blocked another attack. "We'll catch up!"

Matt protested, "But what about-"

"GO!" Terrified, they raced out the back door.

Terry switched his attention back to the fight at hand. He couldn't see James as the masses converged in a death struggle. Already, a T was down for the count, screeching as an Arachnid waved his sliced earlobe in front of his face.

"JAMES?! JAMES!" No response came other than the groaning and hollering of the horde. His date was lost to the chaos. The Dark Knight would be far more useful in this situation than Terry McGinnis.

"Slag it," he swore, vaulting into the truck and slamming the shutters closed. He might not get another opportunity to change into Batman.

It was a stampede. People on every side were pushing and shoving. Small children were screaming, crying. Tables flying; food smashed onto the gravel. Matt grasped Annie's hand tightly as they ran towards the parking lot.

"Keep going! Keep going!" He chanted, trying not to trip over obstacles strewn across the earthen walkway.

"DON'T LOOK BACK," she berated him when he chanced a glance over his shoulder.

Up ahead, he spotted a girl younger than they stumble, disappearing under limbs. She surely would have been trampled to death had not a figure in soft hues swooped in and retrieved her.

Someone crashed into them, nearly knocking them both off balance. Matthew shrieked in agony as something sharp impaled him on his right side. He clutched his ribs, finding a syringe and a thin trickle of blood.

Finally- _finally-_ they reached the parkade. The space opened up into large plots of land that allowed the mob to scatter in different directions.

Now that they had escaped the mad crush of bodies, Matt and Annie slowed to catch their breath. The folks surrounding them were covered in cuts and bruises.

Bystanders were recording the scene on their phones. He saw a couple standing on his brother's Dart for a better view, and he had to bite back the wave of indignation.

Red and blue lights flashed as they watched emergency vehicles arrive. "Come on," Annie told him, "let's get you checked out."

"Delia! Deirdre! Thank goodness," an elderly woman pushed past them, embracing twin blondes.

"We're _fine,_ Grandma Pam," they said simultaneously, though one sported a bloody temple and the other, a busted nose.

Matt was starting to feel feverish. Sweat dripped between his shoulder blades and he was panting. He blamed it on the adrenaline rush.

Suddenly, Annie cried, "Uncle Dickie!!"

"Annie?! Matt!" Richard Grayson appeared, clothes ripped but otherwise unscathed. Terry was a frequent visitor to his gym, and he, a close friend of Annie's dad. While Dick seemed pleasant enough, Matt had so far unsuccessfully tried to properly introduce him to their mother. "What are you doing here?!"

"We came here with Terry," she hastily explained. "We got separated- have you seen him?"

Dick shook his head. "No. If I know Terry, though, he'll pop up any minute. He's good at getting himself out of a jam."

Matt wobbled, saved by Dick's steadying grip on his shoulder. "You look green, kid. Annie, grab his other side and we'll help him to the medics."

"JAMES?! JAMES!"

Jason could hear Terry yelling, but couldn't answer. Fat T, perhaps mistaken him for an Arachnid or simply didn't give a single fuck, had seized him by the throat.

He was strong, Jason would give him that. But oh so incredibly _stupid._

Without hesitation, Jason broke Fat T's hold on him and jabbed the gangster's windpipe. Hard. He clutched his neck, but Jason followed up with a cross that sent him crumbling.

Straight away, another punk was running at him. Jason grinned, aiming a kick to his knee, "The doctor will see you now."

Spiderboy screeched as his leg bent in a way it certainly wasn't meant to. He laughed, "That's what they _all_ say."

A T tried bludgeoning him with a metal pipe, but he just disarmed her by snapping her wrist. She wailed, knees buckling.

_Jab, hook, hammerfist, knee strike._ As Jason proceeded deeper into the skirmish, he overpowered these _brats_ easily. Street tussles don't compare to serious martial arts training. He hadn't even touched his weapons yet.

"Come on," he taunted, "I'm barely breaking a sweat!"

The rival gang's chief managed to slice through Jason's jacket, nicking him in the forearm. He hissed, palming the wound, yet was otherwise undeterred. " _That's_ more like it!"

Jason tackled the lousy attacop, gouging one pair of eyeballs with his thumbs. The gangbanger howled in pain. He was already scratching the corneas on the next set when he heard others shout above him, "Batman!"

His gaze shot up.

There, standing on the roof of the food truck and tossing bolas at panicking goons, was the man he'd avoided like the plague ever since he returned to Gotham.

_Bruce is going to have a damn aneurysm seeing me back._


	7. Dance With The Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MINOR SPOILER for Batman: The Adventure Continues, Vol. 3.

Those fingers, who just last week were tangled in his hair, were now covered in blood and gore. _Christ._

Terry froze when he spotted James. He'd pinned the Arachnids' boss to the ground, whirling in intense agony. James appeared momentarily nonplussed, before a look of grim pertinacity took over.

He smashed his fist into the 1% er's face, knocking him unconscious, then stood up. As mobsters made a run for it, James merely readjusted his leather jacket.

"Nice gear, _babybat_ _._ "

Batman resisted the urge to respond. He eyed the body beside James wearily.

"Oh, he'll survive," James added, kicking the thug in the ribs. The Arachnid grunted. "And an appointment with an opthalmotogist should set him straight."

The middle-aged fighter approached the food truck cautiously, fingers obviously itching for a concealed weapon. "I don't want any trouble, Batman. My actions tonight are _clearly_ in self-defense. But I'll happily hand your ass to you if you get in my way."

Terry believed him. The evidence of his prowess laid moaning in the dirt.

With a sigh, he extended his scarlet mechanical wings and took off after the remaining gangsters. James could take care of himself. Batman had a job to do.

Bruce's successor was thinner, less bulky. Though for a second there, Jason admitted, he'd had him. It was just like seeing the old man on patrol again.

The last time they fought side-by-side, they'd put Masterpiece and her crew behind bars, nearly a quarter of a century ago. Even then, Jason had noticed Bruce's movements slowed... He couldn't envision, however, how the Dark Knight's reign over Gotham would end in a heart attack.

He was grateful that the new guy didn't start shit with him. Jason had to find the McGinnises and Annie. Fast.

The fair was in shambles. Battered attendees were limping past overturned stalls. A few were bellowing the names of missing loved ones. The cops had tardily arrived, taking statements from the victims.

"Hey! Hey you- James?!"

He turned at the sound of his alias. Mei Mouri was waving her arm over her head, sprinting in his direction. Her bun had been ripped out, but she otherwise looked unhurt.

She panted, coming to a shakey stop before him, "I've been pushing back T's- where are the others? Are they alright?"

"I'm searching for them," explained Jason. "I lost them in the crowd."

_"Dammit,"_ she swore. She bent over and gripped her knees, inhaling deeply.

"I'm going to check Terry's car," Jason said, dialing his cell. "They might've gone back to the parking lot."

No one answered.

Anxiety flipped his stomach. He really wished he'd taken the time to get Matt and Annie's numbers.

_"This is for Annie, Muck-Face!"_

The first time he ever met Tim Drake, the third Robin had screamed those words at Clayface as he pummeled the supervillain. Tim had named his daughter after the little amnesiac girl he was unable to save. Out of penance or gratitude, he could only guess.

On instinct, Jason had thrown her to safety once the fighting broke out- but what if she'd been injured? Could he face his adoptive brother?

God, he'd kill for a cigarette right now.

**james: with mouri. We're ok. Call me back. Let me know you're safe.**

As they trudged towards the parked vehicles, the police presence grew. Jason's gut dropped when they came across several officers barricaded off an area with yellow crime-scene tape. A bloody heap was facedown in the mud.

"This way, folks, this way," a trooper redirected onlookers, beckoning with his baton.

He couldn't see the dead woman very well, only that she was dressed entirely in black. A high heel had fallen off and stood abandoned a few feet behind her.

"We won't know whether it was compressive asphyxia or the trampling that killed her, not until we bring her back to the lab," Jason overheard the medical examiner say.

"It's possible she died before she hit the ground," continued his assistant, photographing the site.

"Very true, Daniel, very true. Ah," the M.D. pulled out a wallet from the vic's coat pocket.

"Got an I.D. for me, Doc?" Inquired the detective with the prominent five o'clock shadow.

"Yes, I- _holy fuck-nuggets,_ " he cursed loudly, double-checking. "The bruises and the swelling hid it, so I didn't realize-"

"What? WHAT?!"

"Her facial scarring," the M.D. exclaimed, "this is _Alicia Hunt-_ "

"Can't be! She's still at Blackgate-"

"She was paroled last Thursday," Commissioner Gordon's commanding voice interrupted them. She appeared a moment later, beige trench wrapped tightly around her frame. She strongly reminded Jason of her father. "The media was too busy focusing on Paxton Powers to pay her any mind..."

Suddenly, Jason felt lightheaded. Swaying, he grabbed Mouri's forearm to steady himself.

"James?"

_"Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" Asked Masterpiece, her brown eyes cold behind a porcelain mask. She aimed her baretta M9 between his eyes, dead center._

_"Alicia, you don't have to do this," Jason groaned, pressuring the wound in his shoulder. "What the Joker put you through- I understand-"_

_"I **doubt** that."_

"JAMES?!"

He came to, luckily still standing. Mouri was staring at him, wide-eyed. Everyone was staring.

"I-I- Sorry, I spaced out." He seriously hated flashbacks. Worst timing.

"Are you alright, sir-?"

_Damn._ The patrolman noticed the state of his hands. He drew his energy pistol, "Sir, I'm going to need you to _slowly_ raise your hands and-"

"It's my blood," Jason replied quickly. "I'm injured."

"Regardless, I-"

"Mr. Macpherson," Barbara had walked over. _Oh shit._

"I didn't kill anyone, Babs," he whispered.

"We both know there's more than blood underneath those fingernails," she retorted. Of course she didn't trust him. Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair Warning: Next chapter's gonna be heavy on the body horror.


	8. Echolocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cass and Duke make minor cameos, but that won't be the last we see of them!

Dr. William Finnegan was no stranger to horrific body trauma. In his nearly forty-year career in the Emergency Room, he'd seen enough carnage to send a gorefest, torture-porn movie enthusiast running to the toilet.

It was he who initially treated disgraced Officer Jack Crane of the GCPD, after the man suffered third-degree burns in an apartment fire. Dr. Finnegan was able to save Crane, but the cop had been permanently deformed. Skin grafts and the latest in plastic surgery could only do so much, and Crane wasn't a candidate for a full face transplant.

Despite their best efforts, Gotham Memorial personnel were constantly on Crane's shitlist. Obviously, berating the nurses and CNAs made them avoid his unit unless it were absolutely necessary.

_"They're talking 'bout conducting an official inquiry," the heavily bandaged man ranted, tossing his pudding cup against the wall. "I didn't do shit except stop an arsonist! Internal Affairs can kiss my ass!"_

Dr. Finnegan had decidedly stayed quiet during this tantrum. What do you say to someone who unabashedly shoots someone in the back?

He had no idea that soon after Crane's release from the hospital, he'd become the nefarious serial killer, The Savage Skull. Every so often, a cop would arrive with massive stab wounds, only to die on his operating table. Dr. Finnegan managed to revive one lone victim of the Skull's rampage. Had Black Bat not intervened, Savage Skull would've broken into the ward and finished the job.

He remembered when Nicky "Nitro" Nelson Junior blew off both hands doing a job for Black Diamond. The second Nitro had expired from blood loss, and the good doctor had to break the news to a grieving father.

_"Do you have any children, Dr. Finnegan?" Mr. Nelson asked him through bleary eyes._

_"A toddler," he answered fondly. "He's from my husband's last relationship, but already I can't imagine my life without- I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me."_

_"No, no," Nelson smiled sadly. "Children are God's gift to the world. Keep him close, cherish him. Before you know it, they'll have grown."_

He took those words to heart.

Dr. Finnegan was also on call the day Signalman died. Small-time crook Phil Cobb had tried to be their generation's Riddler, with some minor successes. Then he crossed paths with Punchline, who butchered him in the middle of Park Row. By the time the Signal carried him through their ER's sliding doors, he was already dead from a perforated stomach.

Unbeknownst to hospital staff, a photographer was present near the entrance. He snapped a picture and before anyone could yell "CHEESE", the graphic image of Cobb with his intestines hanging out was on every Gotham newspaper or website. The Signal relocated to Blüdhaven not long after, clearly disillusioned with their city.

Tonight promised to be another vicious shift. He barely clocked in before a nurse was rushing him to deal with a kindergartner's severed finger. Immediately afterwards, he was stabilizing a Joker who crashed his motorcycle.

"Look sharp, everybody," a CNA returning from her lunch break exclaimed, phone in hand. "There was a massive gang fight down at Van Dorn Park."

Gotham Memorial was the closest hospital to the municipal park. More likely than not, they would be receiving the bulk of any injured persons.

"What is this, a full moon?" Grumbled Nurse Evans, frazzled.

The situation proved much worse than anyone could've predicted. Over two dozen patients were brought in during the first wave, ranging from broken bones to brain bleeds. They were pretty evenly distributed between civilians caught up in the crowd crush, and the sanguinary gangsters who caused it.

"FUCKING GOD DAMN FRIGGIN DAMMIT-!"

" _Mummy!_ "

"My arm! Look at my arm!"

"SHIT! Shit shit shit shit-!"

"Doc, am I going to die?! I don't want to die!"

"Get that needle away from me!!!"

It was a dizzying sight. There was someone pleading for help in every direction. Stitch a lesion, dispense drugs, jump into performing CPR. G. Memorial's staff had their hands full, but then the second wave hit.

"Miss Martel, you're going to be alright, just hang in there," a different CNA clasped her hand as they wheeled the poor woman into the O.R. There was a nasty gash across her forehead. He gave Doctor Zhao a nod before moving onto his next patient.

"His name's Mathew McGinnis," the nurse practitioner was telling him. "Got stabbed with a hypodermic needle while trying to get away in the stampede. I've already hooked him up to fluids and oxygen."

"Thanks, Suki," he opened the file. _Age 15, bloodtype AB+, no allergies and no preexisting conditions._ "Do they have an inkling of what was in that syringe?"

She shook her head, "He dropped it in the chaos."

Dr. Finnegan sighed deeply. So they were going in blind. He pinched the bridge of his nose, asking, "Is he displaying any symptoms?"

"Yes, Doctor. He's photosensitive, misophonic, and complaining of pain in his head, legs, and arms."

"Blood pressure? Oxygen saturation?"

"BP's 141 over 90. He's displaying some hypoxemia, 90%."

Knocking lightly, the pair entered the dimly-lit room. Their patient was huddled in a fetal position, blanket thrown over his head and trembling. The tubing ran underneath the covers.

On either side he was flanked by his companions, a rosey-cheeked high schooler and a muscular man in an eyepatch. The physician couldn't pinpoint why he felt so on edge around this individual; only that he _definitely_ did not want to meet him in a dark alley.

"My name is Dr. Finnegan," he whispered, extending his hand. "Are you family?"

"Friends," the intimating stranger shook it. He went back to rubbing Matthew's back in a comforting fashion. "His mother and brother are on their way. They should be here any minute."

Finnegan leaned over the bed. The boy made no attempt to uncover his head. "Matthew? Can you hear me, Matthew?"

A flinch, then- "Yes."

"My voice isn't too loud, is it?"

"No," Matt said weakly, hoarse.

"Okay Matthew, before we begin, we would like to know if it's alright if your friends stay? Or would you prefer they wait in the hallway? You're entitled to your privacy, after all."

"S-stay."

"We'll stay, don't worry," the girl answered softly.

"Alright, Mattie, I'm going to need you to lie on your back so I can check the injection," the doctor continued. "I'm going to lift up your shirt- please tell me to stop at any point you feel uncomfortable..."

The pinprick was found between the seventh and eighth rib. The tissue surrounding it was badly bruised and veiny. Dr. Finnegan touched it with a gloved hand, to which Matthew violently winced from.

"Relax, Matthew, relax," he soothed him. Finnegan was strongly reminded of his own son at that age. He grabbed small tweezers. "It looks like the tip of the needle broke off in the struggle, though it isn't deep. I'm going to pull it out and then we'll clean up the area."

Matt began panting wildly, but the middle-aged man ushered words of encouragement. It was enough to get the job done.

"You're doing great, Matthew," he taped a patch over the injection site. It had bled only slightly.

"It hurts, it hurts," the boy gasped.

"What hurts?"

"My- my head," he whimpered. "My teeth- My ears- everything's so _noisy._ _"_

"Did you bump your head?"

"N-n-no."

"That's okay, Matthew," he coached. "Let me check your cranium. Come on, out from under the covers."

For a moment, Matt hesitated. Then he inhaled sharply and lowered the thin hospital sheet.

The explanation hit Dr. Finnegan like a freight train. _Oh God._

"Suki, I'm calling a _Code Blue,_ " he told the nurse urgently as his escorts gaped in horror. "Get me Mutagen-99 antiserum- he's going into a Splicing Overdose!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Savage Skull is from "Batman Vol. 1 #360" by Doug Moench and Don Newton.
> 
> Black Diamond is from "Batman Vol. 1 #58" penciled by Bob Kane and Lew Sayre Schwartz.
> 
> Nitro Nelson also appeared in #58 and the episode "Appointment in Crime Alley."
> 
> Signalman is from "Batman Vol. 1 #112" by Bill Finger and Sheldon Moldoff.
> 
> Punchline is from "Batman Vol. 3 #89" by James Tynion IV, Guillem March, and Carlo Pagulayan.


	9. Terminal

"Those psychiatrists are sure a bunch of nutjobs."

"They _really_ _thought_ they could put Terminal to rest."

The triple threat of Jokerz laughed heartily as they made their way towards the Docklands.

Carter Wilson, or _Terminal_ as their boss preferred to be referred as, had been paroled early for "good behavior." His therapist claimed he was "cured" again. Well, they could believe that all they want, but Tayko still received a text asking them to meet him at Warehouse 19.

The cool evening breeze was a nice reprieve from their stuffy subterranean clubhouse. Their bellies were full from the double pepperoni pizza and jalepeno chili fries from Cheesey Dan's. Best of all, not a single passing cop car paid them the slightest bit of attention. Tonight promised to be a great night.

The port was completely deserted; its buildings dark against the moonlight. They crept past security, slumbering in their booth, and through the hole in the chain-link fence.

It's wasn't their first time meeting here. The depot once stored the dock's legion of reachstackers, crawler cranes, and tractors, but had since fallen out of use. Their entrance was made easy by a busted rear door, which refused to remain locked. And nobody came knocking except the few stragglers on lobster shift, simple to avoid or bribe.

Last time they came to this forgotten shithole, Terminal had filched a duffel bag full of slappers. They divvied up its contents and planned to sell them on a few street corners, until Batman showed up.

Maybe tonight, Terminal had weapons or geek tech they could pawn off?

"Do you smell garlic?" Weasel asked as they forced the hatch open. The interior was obscured in darkness. They switched on the flashlights in their phones.

Trey took a big whiff, before covering his nose. "Ugh, no. But something smells like literal shit."

"Someone ate too much Italian," Takyo chortled, "Obviously."

The foul stench grew as they ventured further into the warehouse. The triad split up, calling, "Terminal? Terminal, are you there?"

"Where the hell is he?" Trey grunted, punching a tractor when they met back up.

"I can't fucking stand it any longer," Weasel complained, looking green. "That rotting smell is really getting to me."

"I'm gonna lose my supper."

"Screw this," the tall Joker shouted, "Terminal, if you don't come out on the count of thr-"

"What's that?!" Takyo pointed at the ceiling, gasping.

Above them hung a truly grotesque sight. A waxy, swollen corpse dangled from a noose tied to the rafters. Its eyes bulged out of its sockets, its distended tongue stuck out, blood dripping from its nose. The dead body's stomach ballooned and appeared ready to pop.

They started screaming when they recognized Terminal's signature straight-jacket and long black wig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHORT chapter this time, but we're getting into the meat of this mystery.
> 
> Next couple chapters, we're getting some answers.  
> 


	10. Prints

If Commissioner Gordon had her way, Jason Todd would be on the next bus to Arkham Asylum. Yet her authority only went so far.

In the meantime, Gotham PD was letting him sweat it out in an interrogation room. They'd collected evidence from his hands and attire, provided rudimentary medical care, and offered him liquids. Needless to say, they were already running his DNA through the Combined DNA Index System (CODIS).

Barbara was confident in a hit. Jason's criminal record stretched as far back as his days homeless on Crime Alley. True, the statue of limitations had run out on the majority of crimes they could _prove_ he committed, but there was the potential he had slipped in his twenty years on the lamb. That, on top of tonight's events.

James Macpherson would be exposed as the Red Hood, escaped psychiatric patient and former convict.

_"Don't worry, Babs, I plan to 'behave.'"_

She regretted ever giving him the benefit of the doubt. A woman was dead- a woman _he_ shared a violent history with. Jason held the skillsets needed to make this look like an accident _and_ he reappeared at the crime scene, caught _literally_ red-handed.

Barbara paused her train of thought. This seemed too much of a rookie mistake, at least for someone of Jason's calibre.

_"Jay's not well."_

The chief had gotten in touch with the Red Hood's protege`, Scarlet, under the assurance that she would not reveal her whereabouts to Signal. Last Wednesday, they'd met at Brenda's Cafe in Blüdhaven; Scarlet's face hidden under a deep red hoodie. As she wolfed down her bacon and eggs, Babs wondered if perhaps she hadn't eaten in days.

_"He relapsed after seeing that Joker copycat on tv. He's got tremors really bad. The night terrors are back, and sometimes they happen when he's awake." She swallowed, "When he checked out during a mission, Artemis sidelined him. He wasn't happy."_

_"So he's been patrolling on his own."_

_"Yeah," Scarlet wiped her mouth with a napkin. Her Russian accent had faded to the point that it was barely discernible. "We haven't seen him in a little over two years. Just rumors, you know?"_

_"Of?"_

_"He's revisiting old rogues, making sure they're still towing the line. Word has it he roughed up Ricky the Hook bad."_

_"Scarlet- Is he dangerous?"_

_"I think he's trying, Gordon. It's not like it used to be. When he ran with us, he only killed as an absolute_ **last** _resort. Even the bastards who would've deserve it were spared. He's got better control than some of your cops."_

_When Barbara didn't respond, Scarlet insisted, "Look- what happened with Punchline and Yo-Yo? Those were special circumstances. You don't need to get the Batman involved."_

Barbara would rather date Professor Radium than allow Terry McGinnis anywhere near him. No, if Jason had not surrendered quietly, she would've contacted Superman or another veteran of the Justice League to bring him in.

_"I can't act as reckless as I used to. Going out on patrol's been getting harder."_

She wanted to believe him, desperately. Believe that he was more than just the sum of his actions. Of the Robins, it was Jason who came home to care for Bruce after his heart attack. Deep down, he was a good man.

Clearly, she misjudged him. The crime-fighter was too wounded to stay on the streets. He needed professional help.

Probably took one glance at Masterpiece and freaked. Hunt's release wasn't widely reported, after all. Probably got transported right back to that night when Jason almost bled out.

Barbara leaned her chin over her fists, shutting her eyes for a moment. She'll have to make a public statement within the hour, but her mind kept returning to the wise-cracking second Robin who once offered her cigarettes.

Jason knew this would be a bad episode. His hands were trembling, clenching and unclenching; and he kept squinting at his surroundings. The white artificial lights above him were way too bright.

He shook his head vigorously. He had to keep his wits about him if he didn't want this to lead to being sedated and drooling.

"You're getting old, James," Barbara said, especially irritated, "and _sloppy-"_

"I'll say. I have a license to carry but didn't think I needed it off the clock." He was sticking to his cover story of a private investigator. This interrogation was being filmed.

"Then _why_ were you lugging so many weapons," Detective Bullock growled. The attractive brunette shared no resemblance to her father, except his attitude. "Rearing for a fight?"

"Are you nuts, we're in _Gotham City_ ," he emphasized, rubbing his forearms. He wished they hadn't confiscated his jacket and shoes, but they'd made the metal detectors wail. "Maybe people can stroll around Metropolis or Star City unarmed. Not here."

He tapped the table impatiently, "Look, with the amount of times I've been mugged or threatened in this town, me bringing protection shouldn't be that hard to comprehend. Besides, your forensic team isn't going to find anything on those shuriken, because _I didn't use them._ "

"Then why bring them, and not the gun?" Bullock asked incredulously.

"Because the gun is more often fatal."

"Have you ever shot someone?"

"No," he lied. His current alias had a clean record. Sergeant Todd Andersen, however, he had quite the credentials from his days in the army. (After that particular mission was over, Roy told him to never get a buzzcut ever again.)

"Have you ever killed someone?"

"No." But Irish mobster Peter Voorhees sure as hell did. (That was when Roy and him went undercover as brothers, with matching shoulder-length auburn hair.)

"Have you ever seriously injured anyone?"

"Tonight, yeah."

"Who?" Bullock demanded.

"Just a couple of thugs," Jason shrugged. "Some T's, some fucking spider furries. I was in the wrong place, wrong time, and they didn't care who they hurt."

"Are you saying it was in self-defense?"

"Damn straight it was," he answered hotly. "They surrounded me, and I had to fight to escape."

"And you weren't there to cause trouble?"

"I was there to get _supper_ ," he persisted. "I had finished an adultery case, so I decided to enjoy my day off. You can check my files. I wasn't doing anything nefarious."

"Did you know the victim?" Babs inquired, eyes narrowed into slits. They were fishing.

"No."

"You seemed pretty upset when you saw her," she added.

"Because _there was a dead body,_ " he argued. "Normal people don't see corpses day-in, day-out."

There came a rapping from the one-way observation window. Barbara and Bullock excused themselves, and disappeared behind the locked door. When they returned a few minutes later, their expressions were sour.

_The coroner must be ruling it an accident,_ he thought. That meant he only had the assault charges to worry about.

His hunch was confirmed when Bullock said, "You're free to go, Mr. Macpherson. But I suggest you stay-"

"Can I ask you something?" Jason interjected. He scratched his scruff, apprehensive.

Bullock crossed her arms over her chest, "Go ahead. Shoot."

"Was anyone else killed last night?" He swallowed, throat suddenly tight. Terry was at the forefront of his mind.

"No," and Jason exhaled in sheer relief. "Some serious injuries, but we're told the victims are going to pull through."

"Great," he hid his face behind his palms. Between his fingers, he noticed the Commissioner scrutinizing him.

Jason hardly blamed her. Once both searches in CODIS and IAFIS came back empty, he knew, she was going to blow a gasket.

Jason had tweaked one of the Eraser's computer viruses before shutting him down. Goofy name, goofier costume, but the villain-for-hire was surprisingly competent in getting rid of pesky rap sheets and physical clues.

Sergeant Andersen's eyes turned brown, the arches in Peter Voorhees' fingerprints were changed, and the A in Jason Todd's DNA was switched to a T. Nothing so substantial as to be discovered, but enough corruption to prevent them from ever connecting his past to him.

Barbara Gordon could sing how James Macpherson was the Red Hood, but it would never hold up in court.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Hello? I'd like to report a dead body. I wish to remain anonymous...."


	11. Diaemus youngi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the DCAU, Bruce swears to never train another Robin.  
> I found loopholes so I could include others from the Batfamily.

Matt's head ached, as if he were standing beside a subway platform and the train was pulling in. Everything was so uncomfortably loud, from the beeping of machines to the whispers of his loved ones.

He scrunched up his face, but didn't open his eyes. Instead, he simply groaned.

"Matt?" His mother spoke softly, brushing his bangs from his forehead.

"Mhhmmm..." He peeked under his lashes. Mom and Terry were bent over him, expressions full of concern. Dried tear tracks ran down their cheeks.

"W-wha..."

"You're at the hospital, sweetheart," Mom said. "You got hurt at the festival, but you're going to be o-okay..."

Even though the overhead lamps were turned off and the shutters closed, Matt realized he could see his family clear as day. They, however, were straining to perceive him in such darkness.

"Dr. Finnegan will be back in a few minutes," she added, rubbing his right hand. It felt weird. He made to lift it, but his mother held firm. "Mattie, there's something you should know...."

When she struggled to continue, Terry took over, "You were spliced."

"Spliced?"

"Yeah," he said bitterly, "Possibly a dealer trying to sell it at the fair, but poked you by accident."

"With- with what?" Matt's mouth had gone dry.

His brother hesitated. "Bat serum."

His stomach dropped. As he moved to inspect his fist, Terry added, "They're working on the antidote as we speak."

"You'll be back to your old self in a jiffy," Mom said encouragingly.

Matt's fingers extended to inhuman lengths, connected by thin, veined membranes which spread into wings. They reattached to his torso underneath his armpits.

He ran a hand over the black and white fur that sprouted on his chest, creating an ombre effect. Underneath all that hair were large pectorals.

Next, he felt his face. The hair there was much thinner, shorter; hardly changed from before the injection. On the other hand, his nose was squished in. Finally, his funnel-shaped ears towered past his temple.

"Can I- can I see what I look like?" He asked nervously.

They hesitated, then Terry handed over his phone. It took a couple of tries, but Matt managed to load the device's selfie mode. Large, inky eyes stared back at him.

Matt was relieved that he remained mostly recognizable, abiet if he were wearing silicone prosthetics and a furry turtleneck to a costume party. He gaped at his reflection, sharp fangs on full display.

_Schway._

They weren't allowing non-family members in to see Matt. Dick could understand why.

Instead, he was seated in the hospital's cafeteria, picking at a really subpar chicken salad. Bruce, still in his luxurious tuxedo, sat across from him, sipping Earl Gray.

At Dick's insistence, Tim and Annie had gone home an hour ago. He'd promised to call if they received any word on Matt.

On the wall opposite their table, hung a well-used flatscreen TV. The station was turned to the Gotham News Network, repeating last night's events every thirty-minute cycle.

"One person has died and fifty-six were injured in last evening's stampede at the Gotham Food Truck Festival, located on Van Dorn Municipal Park," the anchorman narrated. An aerial shot showcased the devastation.

"The police have yet to release the names of the victims," he carried on, "However, many more were saved by the intervention of Batman and a new trio of vigilante youths."

"Did she give you a name?" Bruce asked suddenly.

Dick shook her head. "No. She took off before I could say anything."

Bruce was silent for a moment. He finished his cup before saying, in a low tone, "I've already contacted the Justice League. They're sending Nightrunner, Bluebird, and Black Bat."

"Ah." These were the superheroes who came into the picture after his retirement, during Tim's unsanctioned years as Red Robin. Much to Bruce's chagrin, Tim offered training and guidance (or in Cass's case, friendship) to anyone seeking to pursue a life as a caped-crusader.

An epiphany struck him. "You requested those members specifically. You want to ask them if they know where these newbies come from."

"Not quite," Bruce said, pensive. "My hunch tells me they're a strictly _grassroots_ operation. I'm worried their amateurism may get them killed while Terry's out of commission."

Because of course Terry has to take leave to care for his younger brother.

"Hi, this is Terry. I can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message," the voicemail chimed.

Jason scratched his scalp so hard it bled. This was the twelfth call he made, but still Terry didn't answer. He grimaced at the blood on his fingers, wiping them off on his jeans.

At last, the bus reached the intersection closest to his apartment. He hopped off, immediately slamming his thumb on the radial button. If Terry didn't pick up, he planned to switch into clean clothes and start canvassing the area hospitals.

It rang a few times before Terry answered, "James?"

"Oh fuck," he almost dropped his cell. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for _hours._ Where are you?"

"Sorry," he replied apologetically, "I had my phone off. They don't allow them in the recovery room."

Jason froze. "Who's hurt?"

"Matt." It sounded like Terry was choking back a sob. "Some fucking dreg stabbed him with a needle."

"How is he?" Jason inquired gravely.

Terry laughed mirthlessly, "He's taking it better than we are. Asking if we could let him stay spliced for Halloween."

Now he really was crying, "But it's not good, James. The doctor said he had an adverse reaction to the antidote and they had to stop treatment. Gah- he could be stuck like this!"

Jason didn't know how to respond, saying simply, "Does he know?"

"No," and he could imagine Terry shaking his head.

"Listen," he was practically running, "I'm at my apartment. Give me a fifteen minutes and I'll head over. What hospital are you at?"

"Gotham Memorial."

Matt had fallen back to sleep when Terry reappeared. To Mary, he looked so lost and vulnerable.

"You missed Mr. Wayne leaving," she whispered. Wayne had taken numerous samples, promising Mrs. McGinnis he'd do everything in his power to cure her son. With the vast army of scientists at his disposal, she held complete faith in him.

"It's fine," Terry slumped in the chair next to hers. "Dick's still here, I see."

"I'm going to send him home," she said, standing. Mr. Grayson had been sitting in the waiting room for half the day, offering to help in any way.

Terry nodded, "Tell him I say 'thanks.'"

She espied Dick chatting with a handsome thirty-something with long brunette locks, plaited in a Viking style. The stranger was dressed in an expensive three-piece suit and carried a fast-food bag.

"Ah, Mrs. McGinnis," Dick smiled at her. She felt her heartbeat skip. "This is Vidar Finnegan, Dr. Finnegan's son."

"My Pa always forgets to eat, so I thought I'd bring him lunch," Vidar shook the bag lightly.

"He's very lucky to have you as a son," she greeted him warmly. Vidar reminded her a little of her own boys. "Your father has been working so hard; he's been unbelievably helpful to us."

"Thank you," Vidar replied, flattered. "And I'm terribly sorry for what you're family is going through."

"Vi?" The doctor in question rounded the corner, pleasantly surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing you sustenance," his son chirped. He strolled over to the tall, black man, saying exasperatedly, "Dad told me you forgot to pack munchies again."

As they bid the pair adieu, heading towards the staff breakroom, Mary mumbled sadly, "Whenever Warren got too absorbed in his job, Terry and Matt would grab him dinner. They told me they'd eat together in an empty office near the top of the Wayne-Powers tower."

She wished her ex-husband were here. He was always so sure of the next step.

Dick laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

After a moment, Mary wiped her eyes on her sleeve and told the gymnast, "I want to thank you, Mr. Grayson. You've been extremely kind."

"Please, call me Dick," he answered. "And don't mention it; they're good kids. I'd do anything for them."

Mary understood why Matt was so insistent on introducing them. Richard Grayson was attractive, with his black hair turned white along the sides. His eyepatch didn't detract from that, only adding to his mysterious aura.

She could kick herself for being so reluctant. Although truth be told, she'd been burned one too many times. In the past, she had to contend with a splicer who used her to gain access to her lab and a thief who burglarized their home. On both occasions, Batman had to step in.

Besides, this was Bruce Wayne's adopted son and the last surviving member of the famous acrobats, the Flying Graysons. He was trustworthy, right?

Maybe once this whole thing blew over, she'd ask him out.

"Hello, I'm here to see Matt McGinnis?"

They both spun around to the source of that gruff voice. Standing at the nurse's station, elbows leaning on the counter, was a lofty man in well-worn denim and flannel.

"He's in Room 308A," the nurse pointed down the hall, "but they're only allowing family inside."

"Oh, okay," the guy just shrugged. His hair was a hoary color and his chin sported a thick layer of stubble. He moved towards the waiting area, pulling out his phone, but stopped dead when he saw Dick.

"Hello, Little Wing," Dick welcomed as this newcomer groaned.

"You're friggin kidding me," he huffed. "'Of all the gin joints-'"

"'She walks into mine,'" Dick finished. He seemed exhausted. "What are you doing here, Jay?"

"Visiting an acquaintance," Jay answered shortly. He ranked of cigarette smoke. "He got injured in last night's stampede."

"How do you know him?" She demanded, hands on her hips. 

He studied her critically. "Dickie, who's the broad?"

"I'm Matthew's mother."

Jay flinched like he'd been slapped. "I'm sorry, Mrs. McGinnis," he apologized, extending his hand, "I didn't mean to be rude. I haven't sleep at all in the past thirty-six hours."

She persisted, "Who _are_ you?"

"James Macpherson," he said sheepishly.

Mary's jaw dropped. She barely registered how Dick rolled his eyes or how James shot him a warning glare.

Everything clicked. This _bum_ was the private eye Terry was dating. This dirty old man _touched her son_.

Before she gave him a ration of shit, she heard Terry behind her, "Hey Mom? Matt's up again, he wants me to run home and grab his tab- James!"

Her eldest rushed past her to embrace his boyfriend. "You made it," Terry sighed.

Wordlessly, she turned, stomping back to her youngest's bedside. Mary couldn't stand to see that look in Terry's eyes- the sheer worshipping in them. He was too trusting, he fell in love too easily. It disgusted her how effortlessly others took advantage of that.

Terry used to regard Charlie Bigelow in the same way. Even at the height of their divorce proceedings, Warren and Mary had stood together against their son's troubling relationship. While Terry was still a minor, Charlie was eighteen, a shoplifter, and a gang member. Bigelow was a bad influence, one that landed Terry in jail for three months.

It would not be the last time Terry went for someone with a history. Soon after his breakup with Dana, he started seeing that Melanie woman, the one who used to be a part of the Royal Flush Gang. Sweet girl, but her family's former associates put them both in grave danger. Their affair only ended when Melanie turned State's Evidence and had to go into protective custody.

_Why can't Terry date someone normal for a change? Like Dana? Like Vidar-_

"Mom?" Matt asked, sitting up. "Mom, you okay?"

She smiled as a plan started to take shape...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: secrets are revealed! Terry confronts Jason about the festival.
> 
> I realized I might've written both Barbara and Mary a bit harshly. Oops. Well, their intentions are good.


	12. Coulrophobia

Terry watched his mother storm off apprehensively.

"If that's not the worst first impression I ever made," James said, "it's certainly up there."

"Oh, I could think of a few instances, _James,_ " Dick hissed.

Terry looked between them, "You two know each other?"

"Err-"

"Yes," Dick replied, "same treacherous career."

_A vigilante,_ Terry realized. "That explains the scars."

"Wait-"

"And the gun," he interjected.

"I-"

" _And_ how you took care of those hoodlums," he added, folding his arms across his chest.

"Dick, what-"

"He works for Bruce," Dick explained.

"Oh, and about what you said to me, I hope you know that I can return the favor." Terry went in for the kill, "I can do more to your ass than just shove my cock in it."

James flushed with anger. He seized Terry's forearm and got in his face, "You're-"

"Not here, Jaybird," Dick intervened, grabbing his wrist.

Terry's expression soften, still he told his date sternly, "I like you, James. I really do. But don't threaten me on my turf."

James dropped him like he touched a hot stove. He took several steadying breaths before he glared at Terry, asking, "I suppose you didn't know about me before we met, huh?"

"Nope," he shook his head. "Is it safe to assume the reverse is true?"

"Yeah," James huffed. He was silent for a moment, then chortled, "Guess that _Casablanca_ line's really appropriate right now."

_"God,"_ Dick moaned, then he cocked an eyebrow. "How did you two meet, exactly?"

"At a gay bar in downtown Gotham," Terry clarified. His partner simply blushed.

When several heads turned in their direction at the raised voices, Dick suggested, "Perhaps we should move this conversation elsewhere?"

"My place," he offered. "I still gotta grab Matt's tablet."

The ride to Terry's apartment was agonizingly slow. James followed their car on his motorcycle, yet Terry remained anxious. As if he'd glance back to find him gone.

The elevator ride up was just as awkward. Dick kept his eyelids shut while James focused on a little speck of dirt on the ceiling.

The McGinnis household was unbearably quiet. The blinds were closed, casting everything in darkness, and Terry's gut clenched when he realized that Matt should be home from school by now, swearing up and down as he tackled his math assignments.

"Nice place," James remarked, flopping on the couch. He spread his legs wide, arm hung behind the couch's back.

Terry was still unnerved by the brutality he'd displayed at the festival. Yet hadn't James proven himself by protecting Annie? Or running to his side when he'd learned that Matt was injured? He wasn't ungrateful.

He curled up next to James, hand resting on his knee. Dick plopped on the other side with a grunt.

"Never pegged you for a cradle-robber, Jay," Dick laid his chin against his knuckles.

"Oh _shut up,_ Dickless," James snarled.

"Can we _not_ do this, guys?" Terry pleaded, "I would honestly like some answers."

"Where to begin-"

"Maybe with _your real name?_ " Dick interrupted.

"Quit it," He snapped. Then he spoke to Terry directly, "It's Jason Todd. I've been living under my current identity for the past three years."

Terry frowned, "The Robin who _died_?"

"I got better," Jason replied. "Wait- Bruce never told you I came back?!"

"Bruce doesn't tell him a lot of things," Dick sighed.

"Getting information from him is like pulling teeth," Terry said apologetically, " _especially_ if it's about the Robins. He'd just shut down everytime I brought it up. So I gotta ask, how the fuck did you cheat death?"

"Short answer? Ra's al Ghul."

He squeezed James' hand tight. He knew what that meant.

"It made him sick, very sick," insisted Dick, glaring at his colleague. "Jason was institutionalized a couple times. In _Arkham._ "

"Thanks, Dickhead, I wanted so much for my partner to know what a mental case I am," Jason growled.

"Well, you _are_ dating a guy thirty years your junior," he argued.

Jason huffed, mumbling to himself, "He's never going to live this down."

"Why were you in Arkham? What did you _do_?" Asked Terry, reminded so vividly of the carnage Jason had left in his wake.

"I had... issues with rage." Dick snorted at that. "I hurt a lot of people when I first came to back to Gotham. Unlike the old man, I wasn't afraid to cross that line and put a bad guy in the ground."

Terry swallowed.

"Over the years, I gained control over myself," he asserted. "I'm not the same man I was."

"Tell that to Duke," Dick said darkly.

"Would you quit interrupting me?!"

"The Signal? What happened with the Signal?" Terry had met the superhero from Blüdhaven the previous year, working a joint case between their cities.

Jason stayed quiet. The first Robin commandeered the conversation, "Around the time you were born, they were fighting Gotham's first generation of Jokerz. Nasty group, they were more serial killers than the petty crooks you see nowadays.

"They were lead by a woman named Alexis Kaye, but Terry, you'd know her better as Punchline." Terry nodded, remembering the horror stories his parents told him.

"She firmly believed in the Joker's ideology of death and mayhem. Without the Batman, there were few who encountered her and lived. When they kidnapped and murdered a street medic-"

Jason stood up. "They didn't just kill him, they _butchered_ him. They decorated the old Wayne Enterprises building with his insides. Why?! Because they saw him at a protest wearing a Robin sweater!"

He was shouting. "Me and Sasha- we couldn't let them get away with it! We couldn't let any of those mass murdering clowns continue to destroy human lives at a whim! So- we took care of it."

"Oh, you did more than that," Dick stated. "You put Yo-Yo in a wheelchair interrogating her. You brought a body bag to their hideout, stuffed it full with the heads of their high-ranking members, and dropped it on the front steps of City Hall."

"It was to discourage future copycats."

Recognition hit Terry like a freighter. "You're the _Red Hood!_ "

"Heard of me, have you?" He sneered, fists clenching.

"I've read your files, but your identity was too heavily encrypted to crack," Terry felt like ice was flowing through his veins. "You're one of the most violent vigilantes in the past century."

Dick sighed. "After the massacre, Duke arrested Jason, only he escaped four years later."

"I couldn't stand being there any longer," Jason sat back down, clutching Terry's hands in his own. "I was constantly surrounded by the very psychopaths I helped imprisoned. They'd scream at me while I slept, while I ate, while I bathed.

"Kid- I'm not making excuses, I _certainly_ belonged there," now his hands were trembling. "However, if I ever returned, it would literally kill me."

The new Batman recalled the flashing warning label on the Red Hood's file. **_WARNING: Suffers From SEVERE Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. DO NOT APPROACH._** He also thought of how Jason writhed in his sleep.

"Have you killed since then?" Terry inquired.

Jason inhaled sharply. "Only on three occasions. All three were a matter of life-and-death, where children were endangered. I don't kill unless I don't have a choice."

Dick seemed like he was about to argue, but snapped his mouth shut.

"Are you operating as the Red Hood in Gotham?"

"Yes," Jason said truthfully.

Terry pressed, "Why?"

He hesitated. "Screw it, Babs already knows," he slapped his knee, "Harley Quinn."

After he explained his investigation, Dick and Terry shared a glance that was too knowing. "What?" Jason barked.

"Jason, have you talked with Tim?"

He laughed humorlessly. "No, Golden Boy, I haven't had the chance yet. Your ex asked me the same question."

"Tomorrow," Dick said, determined, "You and me, we're going to stop by his house for a 'chat.'"

"Seriously, what's going on?" Jason was red from frustration. "Why is everyone treating this with kid gloves on?"

"Quinn knows Tim's secret identity," said Dick.

"And you believe that if the police take her in instead of a caped-crusader, she'll be less inclined to expose Tim in retaliation. Right?"

"That's part of it," Terry agreed.

"That's a pretty weak fucking arguement," Jason argued.

"How about you tell him that to his face?" Dick roared. They winced. He lowered his voice to grumble, "Nobody's saying we ignore Quinn, but let's do it in a way that doesn't threaten Tim or his family."

Jason relented. "As much as I like the Commissioner, I don't trust cops to _not_ screw up. What do you propose?"

Dick pondered for a few moments. "Bluebird's arriving in Gotham any day. Part of the team to relieve Terry. Unlike you two, she has the least obvious connection to Batman and Robin."

"I see," Jason nodded approvingly. "Harper's got a stake in this, she'll want to see that clown behind bars. But Harley Quinn doesn't know anything about her."

Dick rubbed his chin, "I'll run support over comms, while you head backup- but only in the event of an emergency."

"I can deal with that. As long as we take her down."

Quietly, Terry watched as they schemed. Jason's arm wrapped around his waist, his side pinned to his partner's chest. It was hard to fathom that, mere minutes ago, they were discussing Jason Todd's murders and escape from an asylum.

Terry was struggling through an emotional rollercoaster. He felt trapped. Again.

As if Charlie was still standing behind that broken window, his arm stretched out for Terry. And Terry would accept it. Because he loved him...

Charlie never reciprocated Terry's feelings, despite what his parents assumed. Jason evidently did.

How was he supposed to tell Wayne? His predecessor must've been so furious with the Red Hood, so disappointed in his former Robin. Did he already know?

"Terry?"

Then there was Mathew, bedridden with wings he didn't have a clue about using. So sensitive to light and sound, he cried. Who would take care of him? His mother couldn't do it on her own.

Bringing the tablet was pointless. Even at it's lowest setting, it might be too bright. Then Matt would realize his new body wasn't a gift, but a disability. Terry would have failed to protect his little brother...

"Shit, he's hyperventilating!"

"Terry- Terry, take deep breaths."

"Try to calm down."

"Lay him down flat, Jason-"

His skin felt so prickly. Someone threw a pillow under his head. They held his hand. Brushed his bangs out of his eyes as he panted through a panic attack...

Terry hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until he awoke in his bed. A wet cloth laid across his temple. Jason perched on a chair he had dragged from the kitchen.

"How're you feeling?" He asked anxiously.

"Schway," Terry groaned, sitting up. He noticed the drowning sensation had dissipated. He took the face cloth off, saying, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For freaking out," He shook his head. "I don't know what came over me."

Jason moved to sit on the mattress. "Don't be. You were running on fumes. Me and Dick- we shouldn't have added to your troubles."

"Where is he?" Terry glanced around the room, "Dick, I mean?"

"At the hospital. Told your mother that you were so tired, you had to take a nap as soon as you got home. She understood," he grinned.

"Thank you."

Gazing up at Jason, Terry felt heat pooling in his groin. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned just enough that a little chest hair poked through.

"She also mentioned she wouldn't be home for a couple of hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is NSFW.


	13. Gun Fetish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW
> 
> I've written this chapter over and over again. Ha.

"She also mentioned she wouldn't be home for a couple of hours."

Terry's brain short-circuited. His gaze went to Jason's lips, and he licked his own in anticipation.

"Terry?" Jason was still talking. 

"Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted your eggs sunnyside up or scrambled?" He repeated. "I'm making breakfast for supper."

"Sunny," Terry mumbled, blushing.

Jason hummed as he left the bedroom. A few minutes later, the amazing aroma of cooked bacon wafted in.

After deciding to join him, throwing off the covers, Terry realized he was still in his clothes from Sunday. He rubbed his face.

_I should shower after I eat,_ he thought. He threw off his sweaty turtleneck, allowing his skin to breathe.

His boyfriend was already digging into his meal by the time he entered the kitchen. His plate awaited him beside Jason's, flanked by the bottles of ketchup and hot sauce.

Jason's eyes drifted over his bare chest. "That armor of yours is something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he stabbed the yoke, "I would've expected more scars on Batman."

"It's better than the kevlar you guys used to wear," Terry pointed at a jagged scar on his lower back, "but it doesn't protect me from everything."

"Who gave you that?" He felt a finger touched the raised skin. He shivered.

"A shapeshifting mercenary named Inque," Terry replied. "Sharpened her body to a spike when she kneed me."

"Bet that hurt."

"She's not someone you ever want to meet. Inque's a fucking nightmare," he swiped a piece of bacon off his plate. "Only water slows her down."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jason gulped down his OJ. Terry watched his Adam's Apple bob.

The atmosphere seemed wholly domestic. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to wake up to this every morning. A hunger that had nothing to do with food grew.

"What do you plan to do after," Terry said reluctantly, "after you've brought in Harley Quinn?"

Jason frowned. "Don't know, actually. I assumed I was going to be chased out of town."

"We wouldn't!" Terry insisted. When the older man cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him, he added, "I wouldn't, at least. As long as you don't-"

"-break Batman's cardinal rule," Jason rolled his eyes. "Kid, this ain't my first rodeo."

Terry finished his brunch-supper-whatever and pushed the plate to the center of the table. "What's important is that you're making the effort. I see that."

Jason gave him an appreciative smile before his features hardened. "Terry, I'm one wrong move away from being shipped off to Arkham. The Commissioner is already convinced I'm back to my old ways."

"Why?"

"That woman who got killed in the stampede last night? A former bank robber, one I took down. I just happened to be in the vicinity, and Barbara suddenly thinks an accident's actually a murder," He caterwauled. "Plus I'm being charged for assault."

"What for?! Those gangsters who attacked us?!"

"Yep," he gruffed.

"I'll speak with her," Terry reasoned. He and Annie were witnesses.

"Are you certain I'm worth it?" He mumbled after an uncomfortable pause.

"What do you mean?"

"No offense kid, but I don't know what you see in me," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm an old fart with a ton of bag- !"

"Hey, would you knock it off! Fuck!" Terry said angrily, "Hearing you degrade yourself is getting on my last nerve."

Jason blinked.

"Jay," he reached over and gripped Jason's shirt, "right now, I'm tired, I'm worried sick. Yet here you're acting like you're gonna split the first chance you get. If that's your prerogative, fine, get the fuck out of my house then."

Jason studied his expression, then tilted forward to catch Terry's lips. He opened his mouth and Jason explored it vigorously with his tongue. When Terry pulled back, a bridge of spittle connected them still.

"I hope you won't regret your decision, Terry."

Terry lifted his chin and enjoyed the way the warm water ran down his chest. As he lathered his body with soap, a plan began to form.

As irritated as he was by the fact, Jason was right to be concerned. Once Commissioner Gordon made up her mind, she was relentless in her pursuit. Terry was well acquainted with her tenacity; an incident with Spellbinder almost cost him his freedom.

Then there was the issue over Red Hood himself. Admittedly, Terry had fallen deeply for the man several years his senior, but it didn't negate how precarious his presence in Gotham was. Jason was a loose cannon, with deep psychological scars. It hardly mattered that Jason was cooperating, Bruce Wayne would not want him patrolling.

If Terry could persuade Jason to retire or at the very least reduce his activities, then he could convince both parties to back off.

Maybe he could ask Jason to help in training? It was worth a shot, at least. Pretend he was woefully out of practice while on leave. _Please, Jason, you've been taught by some of the best fighters on earth._

Turning off the faucet, he wrapped a bath towel around his waist and made for his bedroom.

He found Jason splayed on his bed, eyelids shut tight and breathless. One knee was held to his chest as he pumped two fingers past that taut ring of muscle between his cheeks. Terry watched as he pushed them over the knuckles, feeling his cock twitch.

"Terry... Terry..."

Unceremoniously, he dropped the bath towel on the floor and climbed over the bed. Jason let loose a deep guttural moan as he gripped their sex together in hand, stroking.

" _God,_ look at you," Terry whispered in awe. He bit his bottom lip as his gaze ran over Jason's Y-shaped scar. His boyfriend's face went beet-red, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Do you- _ah_ \- think you can handle-"

Terry silenced him with a kiss. Jason gasped, and he took the opportunity to shove his tongue inside. When they finally broke apart, he smirk mischievously. "I'm going to take _such_ good care of you..."

Grabbing the abandoned bottle from the nightstand, he poured copious amounts of lubricant onto his member.

With the excess lube on his fingers, Terry replaced Jason's with his own. His hole was nice and tight and warm as he scissored him open. Slowly- _slowly-_ so unhurried in his ministrations that Jason bucked his hips to get Terry's digits in deeper.

Jason tangled his hand through Terry's hair. " _Ah-_ there- there!"

He felt drunk on power. He bent to mouth Jason's hairy balls, recieving a "holy shit!" in response. He glanced up, drinking in the sight of Jason's erection, dark and dripping with precum.

"I'm- Terry, I'm ready- wanna ride you-"

They flipped over, Jason straddling Terry's thighs. He could feel Jason's glutes tense, relax, and then tense again in anticipation. Jason ran a hand up his chest, rubbing his nipple til the bud stiffened.

As Terry moaned, Jason aligned himself over his plump cock. "It's so fat for me," he panted, grinning. "Your dick's going to feel _so good._ "

Steadily, he sunk down onto Terry's prick. The tip caught only once, and then it was gliding through Jason's passage with minimal resistance. Fully seated, he paused for a moment, catching his breath.

"Holy shit," Terry mumbled, nails digging into his partner's hips. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, relishing in the soft warmth engulfing him.

"You're shaking." Indeed he was.

"Fuck," Terry gasped. "Fuck, you feel incredible."

"You okay?" Jason didn't move. This frustrating douchebag-

"Green, green!" Terry whined, leaving bruises from his tight grip.

Laughing, Jason raised his body until the crown, slamming back down with a rush. Again, again, until those cackles turned to whimpers.

It was so obscene. Jason arched his back, his head tilted back as he rolled his hips against Terry. The gunshot wounds on his chest Terry now recognized as coming from Masterpiece rising and falling. 

The coil in Terry tightened. "Fuck, you're so sexy, fuck," he practically howled over the noise of ass slapping his sack. "Fuck! Fuck!"

His palm skimmed over Jason's scars, seizing his shoulder. Terry lifted himself up to chase after his lover's lips. Jason's jaw dropped as he seemingly been robbed of all sound.

Kissing his coarse cheek, Terry wrapped his fingers around Jason's cock and tugged. He shuddered, warning, "Ter- I'm close."

Terry bite his earlobe, pulling persistently. He whispered, "Then cum. Cum, Jason."

Jason's walls clenched around Terry's shaft as he obeyed. Long, pearly strings of jizz shot up to coat their bodies.

Terry wasn't to far behind, bucking into Jason's beautifully stretched hole until sparks filled his vision. He desperately hugged his boyfriend as his seed filled him....

They had wrapped themselves in the duvet like a cocoon. Terry laid unconscious across his chest, grinning softly as he slumbered.

_He's making a mistake,_ thought Jason. He certainly did by ever indulging the young Batman. Inevitably, he would be ripped away by circumstances and Terry would be left heartbroken.

_"He's going to ask you to give up the Red Hood,"_ a familiar voice snarled.

_Shit._ Sometimes, on the verge of sleep, Jason would hallucinate full-bodied apparitions. They could be anyone, anything, but tonight they were a bruised and bloody Robin.

_"It's obvious, isn't it? The little bastard wants to keep you,"_ the apparition said, hanging over Terry. _"So he's going to do everything in his power to interfere."_

 _Is that so bad?_ Jason argued in his head.

_"'Is that so bad?'"_ His mirror reflection mimicked, then he dragged his hands down his face. _"You're fucking pathetic!"_

_The Joker's dead. He's been dead for over forty years._

_"You know as well as I that that didn't resolve jack! We have work to do!"_ Blood dribbled down his chin.

Jason closed his eyes and counted to twenty. When he glanced back, the haunting figure had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's a long one. A lot of moving parts.


	14. Eco-Brutalism

The next morning proved classically awkward; a scene straight out of a bad rom-com.

Closing the bedroom door quietly behind him, Jason crept across the apartment. He almost made it, too, pulling on his flannel shirt when he heard the telltale _clink_ of china. Shoulders hunched, he glanced back.

Mrs. McGinnis sat cross-legged on the settee, sipping tea. She said nothing, but narrowed her eyes at him. Her glare held so much venom, Jason wondered if she was about to chuck that porcelain cup at his head.

They stayed that way, in silence, for several seconds. Jason did not dare say "hello," anxious about triggering an outburst.

Then, loudly sighing, Mrs. McGinnis collected her dishes and returned to the kitchen. A clear dismissal.

Fifty years ago, nobody could reside in Paradise Meadows. The suburb had fallen victim to a toxic spill. The partially completed housing development had to be abandoned, as most folks couldn't stand the fumes for more than a few minutes before getting seriously ill. A large fire and the relentless efforts of the Gotham Environmental Renewal Society (G.E.R.S.) turned its dismal fate around.

So much greenery surrounded Barbara, that the modern neighborhood was reminiscent of a sci-fi Garden of Eden. Every building was conceived of some form of environmentally friendly architecture, from solar panels to vertical farms and living roofs. Bicycle rideshare ports stood at every corner. It was so aesthetically different to the Downtown districts, you'd believe you were in a separate city altogether.

Passing an extensive community garden, Barbara arrived at the residence of one Blodeuwedd Dennis, top researcher and consultant at G.E.R.S. It's was a _**Béton brut revival**_ complex, now clothed in shrubbery. She made her way up the exposed cement staircase to the second floor, knocking on the first appartment door on the left.

"Yes?" Blodeuwedd's granddaughter's lengthy blonde tresses were styled in a fishtail braid that ran past her waist. She wore a dark T-shirt under green overalls and large bandaid on her temple. She wiped her dirty hands on her pants. They were grimy and blistered, possibly from seeding.

"Good morning," Barbara commenced, "Am I addressing Delia or Deirdre Dennis?"

"Delia." She squinted, "And you are?"

"My name is Barbara Gordon; I'm with the GCPD," she flashed her badge. "Is your grandmother home?"

"She's at the cemetery," Deirdre appeared beside her twin. She was dressed identically to her sister, only that her hair was plaited in a Dutch braid instead. "Why's the Police Commissioner bothering with us?"

"We're corroborating your testimonies from Sunday. The department still needs a few more questions answered," she steadily replied. "Plus, there's a separate matter I need to discuss with your family."

"And you couldn't send some rookie to...?"

Barbara smiled, "I like to be thorough."

The pair lead her through a short hallway into a spacious parlor with oriel windows. The brutalist theme continued into the interior, though it was broken up by the sheer volume of plant life scattered about. Barbara spotted a ludicrous number of rare bonsai trees, 50-galleon terrariums, and succulents hanging in ceramic pots attached to the ceiling.

Delia offered her a seat in a wicker armchair with a large peacock back. Barbara obliged, pulling out a notepad and two manilla folders.

The Dennis twins settled in recycled-wood cathedras, perfectly relaxed. Barbara now noticed the white skull logo embroidered on their black tees. Their outfits were a subtle nod to Gotham's deadliest botanist.

It was the city's worst-kept secret that Blodeuweed Dennis was in fact Pamela Lillian Isley, or _Poison Ivy_. After completing her final stint in Arkham and mourning the apparent death of her best friend, Ivy went straight. She changed her name and started a more pacifist approach to environmental activism. When same-sex marriage was legalized in New Jersey, Ivy married her steady girlfriend and adopted her son. Although obvious now, given how Mrs. _Harriet_ Dennis stayed out of the limelight, nobody suspected her bride. They all assumed Harley Quinn was long dead. Still, it made Barbara's skin crawl how the criminal was under their noses this entire time.

"Let's start with the vigilante who threatened you," Barbara pulled out several photographs and spread them across the glass coffee table. Snapshots of varying quality- Batman, the three newcomers, but also crime-fighters she knew for a fact weren't there. Vendetta, Hawkfire, Bluebird, Manhunter; just to make the process slightly more impartial. She even slipped in a photoshopped image of Jason Todd in his red domino mask, in case. "Can you identify them for me?"

Immediately, they pointed to the woman in the Bauta mask. "That's the one," Delia said confidently.

"She spoke with an accent," Deirdre added, folding her arms. "Trying to throw her weight around like we'd cow down to her."

"In her dreams," her sister snorted.

_Well, that settles that,_ Barbara thought. The pickpocket this particular crime-fighter brought to justice was currently laid up in a hospital bed with a shattered collarbone. Her career was finished before it even began. "Have you seen this person before or since?"

"No," they said simultaneously.

_"2-D Man has escaped Arkham,"_ the police radio cried over static. _"I repeat: 2-D Man has escaped!"_

"That's our cue," the pretty colleen in the pastel Columbina mask lowered her binoculars. "Militant, Melee; you girls ready?"

"Wha do I look like, asleep?" Scoffed Melee, sheathing her baseball bat in the side-break hanging across her back.

Militant elbowed her, "Yeah, Medic. We're ready."

Each caped-crusader now sported matching utility belts, a gift from their mentor. They pulled out their grappling guns and aimed for the nearest building.

_BANG._

"You mentioned to the authorities that your grandmother knew the victim," Barbara continued, providing the most recent picture of a still breathing Alicia Hunt. "That correct?"

"We saw them chitchatting," Deirdre explained. "Grandma Pam comes back from the bathroom arm-in-arm with this lady we'd never seen before."

"Grandma explains they were 'old colleagues,'" Delia gestured quotation marks with her fingers. "Other words, someone she knew _before_ she went legit."

"Did you hear what they were saying?"

"Something about a book deal," Delia shrugged. "The biddy needed the money to start over. She was going to meet with the guy writing it the next day."

Barbara quickly scribbled down the information. "Can you remember any other details? Maybe where they were going to meet?"

They both shook their heads.

"Okay, Mr. McGinnis, are you ready?" Dr. Finnegan stood by the blinds, his hand on the rope.

Matt nodded behind heavy-duty sunglasses. Bruce Wayne gave him an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder.

As the sunlight flooded the room, Matt blinked rapidly at the sudden brightness, but was otherwise unfazed. He held two thumbs up, smiling.

"We're good."

"Do you need them adjusted in anyway?" Wayne asked, "Shades darkened? Or the strap tightened?"

He nixed that. "They're really schway, Mr. Wayne, thanks."

"It's impressive how Mr. Wayne was able to modify them so quickly," Dr. Finnegan said, hands on his hips, grinning.

"Not really," Wayne remarked.

"With these and the earplugs he had made, we'll be able to start you on physical therapy," the doctor ignored him. "I'll schedule an appointment for this afternoon."

"Are you familiar with a man named Carter Wilson?" Barbara asked, showing them a school photo. When the twins appeared dumbfounded, she gave them his mugshot, adding, "He went by 'Terminal.'"

" _That's_ Terminal?"

"He's so clean-cut!"

"Yeah, we know him," Delia confirmed. "When we ran with the Jokerz, he wasn't in our gang but we did see him around. Especially at the big parties."

"He's a bit of a weirdo," Deirdre went on. "Those doctors at juvie screwed him up pretty good."

"Ghoul would call him 'Two-Face' behind his back," her sister chuckled.

"Was he at the fair or something?"

"Sadly, no," Barbara frowned, bending a corner on her notepad. "He was found dead in a warehouse Sunday night."

_"Dead?!"_

"No way!"

" _How?!_ "

"Murdered," she replied grimly. She didn't add, _Strangled to death. Killer left his body to decay for three days before they strung him up._

"Holy frick," Deirdre breathed.

"We're currently interviewing his family and friends," she carried on, "but can you think of anyone who might've wanted to hurt Carter?"

Delia grimaced, "Nah, we haven't spoken with that crowd in half a year."

Her sister asserted, "Our Nana made us cut off all contact."

_A dead-end._

Matt was admiring his clawed feet when he asked, "Do you think these glasses will let me watch tv?"

"They should," Mr. Wayne replied, "but tell me if it makes your eyes uncomfortable."

Dr. Finnegan watched the billionaire fiddled with the television's settings, frowning. Matt was a good kid, really; patient and optimistic. However, it bothered him just how _accepting_ the teenager was about his very dire condition.

The channel flipped to the local news, where a reporter was recounting the harrowing events of that morning. "Stuart Lowe, formerly of the superhero troupe _The Terrific Trio_ , was apprehended mere moments ago after escaping the Arkham Institute."

The clip showcased the extremely thin man amongst rubble, his limbs tied up in a neat bow. He was flanked by three dames in gowns, scrubs, and Judies. Their martial arts style seemed to be primarily stick-fighting, judging by the weapons they carried.

When asked who they were, their leader simply placed her hands in her uniform top's pockets and said, "We're ' _Triune_.' We have no further comments."

Without warning, she smashed what looked like a grey pearl onto the ground. Smoke poured out from its fissures, obscuring the heroines. When it cleared, they had disappeared.

"Schway," Matt murmured, leaning back against the pillows. He spoke with such yearning, it caught Dr. Finnegan by surprise.

Wayne had seen it too. His expression mellowed, coming back to sit by his bedside. "We'll have you back in the dojo in no time. Promise."

"So what did you need our Granny for, anyways?" Delia stretched in her chair, folding her arms behind her head.

_Besides the fact that she hid a wanted criminal for the last four decades?_

"The department is assigning another detective to your parents' case," she answered charily. Instantaneously, the atmosphere in the room changed. Delia sat upright and Deirdre ceased picking the dirt from her fingernails.

Blodeuwedd was not the only environmental activist in the Dennis family. Her adopted son, Olivier, and his high school sweetheart were popular amongst the community, but a real thorn in the side to many corporations. Returning from a protest outside the newly established Wayne-Powers headquarters, they became the victims of a deadly carjacking. The pair left behind twin baby girls, barely a year old.

"Detective Hoggins would like to review the final days your grandparents spent with the couple..."

Quickly, the case went cold. No witnesses, no fingerprints, no DNA, and the car was abandoned down the road. The original detective was overwhelmed.

Twenty years on, the investigation was little better off. After Derek Powers' history with corporate assassinations was exposed, they thought they finally had their lead. Unfortunately, neither the GCPD nor Batman were able to uncover the necessary evidence to connect them. The individuals who held that information were either dead or in hiding.

"...and bring your family up to speed on the official inquiry."

With the information Jason provided, a new line of suspects opened up: Anyone who had a bone to pick with the Joker and Harley Quinn.

Sure, the resemblance was obscured by his youth, but Olivier Dennis was the spitting of his father prior to the incident at ACE Chemicals. That nose, that chin, the color of his eyes... Only difference was Olivier's genuine lack of malice. Yes, glancing through the college freshman's personal photos again, there was little doubt that he was Joker's biological son.

"If we could arrange a date and time for her to pop in- at her convenience, of course- that would be greatly appreciated."

Everyone would be under scrutiny. Everyone. _Especially_ formerly psychotic vigilantes tortured by this clown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's the long awaited Tim Drake confrontation. Then it's ten chapters of pure action. 
> 
> The plot thickens...


	15. Brother for a Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was getting really long, so I broke it in half.
> 
> The next part will hopefully released October 10th.
> 
> On the plus side, I'm also releasing several shorts related to this fic.

Terry held an inkling his mother had a bone to pick with him. He was proven right when they took a detour on their way to the hospital, and parked in front of a high-end fashion boutique in the expensive part of town.

A decade ago, the site housed Karlsson Jewelers, the very shop that Charlie and he burglarized. Despite being a Gotham landmark for over half a century, it closed soon after he became Batman.

The implication wasn't lost on Terry.

"I saw James this morning," his mom said delicately.

_Here we go,_ Terry thought bitterly. "Yeah?"

"Terrance Elliott McGinnis," she said firmly, "what was he doing in our apartment?"

"I-" he swallowed, "I had a panic attack. I had all these thoughts running through my head and I got overwhelmed. He took care of me."

"He did, eh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"He cooked me dinner," Terry quickly told her.

"I noticed the dirty plates in the sink." She gripped the wheel tightly, refusing to say what they were both thinking.

"I love him, Mom."

She sighed, "Ter, you barely _know_ him. You've _only_ known him for a week. That's not love, that's infatuation."

"And I want to see where this goes. I'm not going to break it off _just_ because you disapprove." He added stubbornly, "He's not _Charlie._ "

"I never said he was."

"Oh yeah?" He pointed furiously at the boutique, "Then why bring us here?!"

"Because your taste in partners is questionable at best," Mary McGinnis retorted. "You're always picking up troubled cases."

When he glared at her, she continued, "You can't save everybody, Terry. Stop trying."

His eyes narrowed. "Screw you," he hissed, grabbing at the door handle.

His mother clicked on the automatic lock before he could open it. "Terry, I mean it: there are other people you could be seeing. I met this nice guy-"

"I'm _not_ interested."

"Terry; James, he's a pervert-"

"He's a hero!"

_Oh shit._ He hadn't meant to shout. He also hadn't meant to expose Red Hood's secret identity.

"Excuse me?"

Hastily, he recovered, "When those dregs attacked us, he tried to get us to safety. Ask Matt, he'll tell you. Took on a whole mob so we could get away."

He almost grabbed his phone so he could shove James's worried text messages in her face. Instead, he exhaled deeply, replying, "Everyone writes him off as a lost cause, Mom. Even James. I want to give him the same benefit of a doubt that Bruce gave me."

Mary placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "You're twenty-four, Ter. You shouldn't be taking care of him."

"Being with him makes me happy," he insisted. "He's funny and- he understands what I'm going through-"

"Going through, Terry? You can tell me-"

_I'm Batman._ He contemplated telling her the truth. _We're both vigilantes who risk our necks on a daily basis._

He didn't say anything for a moment. Then his gaze fell back on the clothing boutique. "You know I tried to apologize to Mr. Karlsson again? Before the business closed down, I walked into his shop and explained who I was. He told me to shove my apologies up my ass."

"Ter, I'm sorry," she replied softly.

"Just give him a chance, Mom. That's all I'm asking for."

When Matt napped before his physical theory session, he dreamt of Mouri-sensei's predecessor and of the dojo.

_"I hope you don't mind, Kairi," Terry said apologetically, "but I brought my little brother along. Mom's working late tonight."_

_"Not at all." Tanaga-sensei was warm, inviting. She set him up with a snack and a place to do his homework in._

_"When I'm done," Matt made himself comfortable on the floor pillows, "can I watch you practice?"_

_"Certainly."_

Jason kept biting his bottom lip, trying to stop himself from constantly grinning like an idiot. He wasn't expecting Dick to swing by until the early evening, so he spent much of his day reorganizing his apartment.

He was warming up to the idea of retirement. As he cleaned his many pistols, he thought about what life meant after this final mission.

First off, he should contact Lian. She hadn't seen or heard from Jason in months. He hated worrying her.

_"What was that back there?!" Red Arrow screamed at him behind a billboard. Her eyes were red and puffy behind her mask. "Do you have a death wish or something?!"_

Next, of course, he'd have to get in touch with the Outlaws. Jason had left on bad terms when Artemis benched him. He needed to make things right between them.

_Kori and Artemis were too absorbed in each other to notice Jason sneaking by with a duffle bag hung over his shoulder. Bizarro was snoring soundly in his bedroom, but Sasha was up. She didn't say anything, but watched sadly as he exited the back kitchen door._

Retirement meant rebuilding burnt bridges. For years, Jason's friends were telling him to quit the vigilante business. Every time, he ghosted them. Damn did he miss their company, but it was hard.

Jason could still continue the private investigation gig. Every other day, a new runaway case came across his desk. Besides, he could be Batman's eyes and ears in places Terry McGinnis couldn't risk going.

He imagined telling his comrades. _"Yeah, I've got a full-time job, I'm living in my own apartment, and I'm also in a steady relationship..."_ Honestly _,_ they'd be relieved.

Jason's flat started looking like a snapshot out of "Architectural Digest," only heavy in the weaponry display. Crimson bedspread, polished wooden floors, and traditional wall scrolls. In a place of honor, the small mahogany cupboard housed photographs of his loved ones. Roy, Alfred; but the one of his brother Danny stood in its center.

Satisfied, Jason grabbed his jacket and headed downstairs to the _Pink Dragon._ There was another two and a half hours before Dick's arrival. Might as well chat up Carl until then.

_"Now this stance is called **Zen kutsu dachi** \- bend your leg a little more..."_

_Tanaga-sensei was teaching Matt the basics. She had caught him "playing" with the punching bag in the other room._

_"Where did McGinnis run off to?" Mouri-sensei asked, bottle of water in hand. Being trained as Kairi's successor, she sometimes taught the class in her stead._

_"Running an emergency errand for Mr. Wayne," she said simply._

_Matt rolled his eyes. "He's **forever** running off. It's annoying._ _"_

_The door slide open. Matt didn't recognize the man as a student, but then again, he wasn't here that often. His sweater was drench; it must be pouring outside. The stranger lowered his hood, revealing a brown man-bun and a full beard._

_"Hello, Tanaga-sensei. It's been awhile," he beamed._

_"Ah, Finnegan! It's been too long."_

Luckily for Jason, the _Pink Dragon_ was practically deserted. Only a bear couple and a guy with plaited brunette hair sat around the bar. Carl was already behind the counter, mixing bubblegum vodka with grape juice into a martini glass.

"Here you go," he said, sliding the cup. It was rimmed with green sugar and decorated with a blood orange slice. "One 'Clown Prince of Crime.'"

"Thank you," the dark-haired fop tipped him generously. He was extremely well dressed in maroon vest and matching pants.

"Will it be your usual today, James?" Carl asked as Jason slid onto a stool.

"Yeah. Thanks." A moment later, his bourbon appeared before him.

"You seem chipper," the bartender remarked, eyeing him. "Something good happened?"

"It will," Jason took a swig, "ah- soon. An opportunity I mean to take."

"Oh?"

"Heh, it's a long story," he waved his hand in the air. "But long story short: I'm finally taking my friends' advice and getting my life in order."

"Sounds great, James," Carl said encouragingly, wiping down the counter with a dishwasher. He waggled his eyebrows. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that cutie on your arm from last weekend, would it?"

He merely snorted into his glass.

"Would either of you boys be a Mr. Whitaker?" Queried a shrill voice behind them.

Jason choked.

Spinning around, he found himself face to face with flaxen-haired dame in a neon mini-dress and bulky exoskeleton. The exoskeleton, used by those normally wheelchair-bound for mobility issues, ran from her ankles to the top of her neck. Her eyes were hidden behind pink visors.

Yo-Yo might have chopped her long locks short, but Jason still recognized her immediately. His hand began to tremble. 

"Who?" Asked the fashionable man beside him. The couple on his other side were equally confused.

"There's no one here by that name," Carl- blessed Carl- came to the rescue. "Can I help you with something, Miss?"

"I'm supposed to meet a guy here," Yo-Yo explained, grabbing a seat. "Apparently he's running late. Can I have one Long Island Ice Tea, please?"

Jason could feel himself starting to slip. He hastily finished his drink and bid Carl goodbye. Then he felt a grip on his forearm.

"Wouldn't happen to have a few dollars, would you? I'm low in cash cards." Yo-Yo was in his space.

"No-!" He wrenched his arm out of her hand.

"Mattie... oh Mattie... Wake up, twip."

Matthew groaned as he wrestled back to consciousness. He lifted his head off his palm, coated in dried saliva.

After the physical therapist showed him how to walk again, and ways to maneuver around his wings, he had fallen asleep in his wheelchair. Terry was leaning over him, wearing his usual shit-eating grin.

"Tired?"

"Hmm," he answered non-committal. "How long was I zonked this time?"

"Only fifteen minutes," Terry straightened. "But the RN is right outside with your meds."

Nurse Cassidy was awfully obliging, but she didn't have all the solutions. While she took his vitals, his brother asked her about his drowsiness. "It's not a known side affect of the drugs. It could be that the splicing's messing with your internal clock. Bats _are_ nocturnal."

She hung the stethoscope around her neck. "But don't rule out mental stress. You've lived through a traumatic experience. Depression is normal."

The moment she left, Matt grumbled, "I'm not depressed."

"Matt, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

He slammed his fist against the armrest. "Why is everybody acting like they're at a damn funeral?!" He snapped, "This _isn't_ a bad thing. Suddenly I have powers most kids can only _dream_ of- and who wouldn't want to be a superhero-?"

"You're not becoming a superhero."

Matt flinched. Terry never directed that kind of pure fury his way. He balked under his brother's glare.

"But I want to help people-"

"No," he said firmly. "You're not risking your life."

"You can't tell me-"

"Matt, seriously-"

"I'm not afraid!"

"I am!" Terry snapped. He kneeled before him, lowering his tone. "Matt, I get it. You're trying to be optimistic. It's admirable that you want to use your abilities to protect your community.

"But you don't owe anyone anything," Terry insisted. "There are other ways that don't involve landing in the emergency room. And Mom and I- the other night was honestly the scariest in my life. We worried we were gonna lose you."

"Next time you want to play _cloak and dagger,_ don't offer up my house without asking," fumed Tim. "My family's in no mood to entertain anyone, Dick."

"Sorry, I'll remember that," Dick said apologetically. His eyes scanned the road for potential parking. "Here we are."

He spotted Jason planted at the top of his staircase, smoking a cig. Said staircase was swept clean of the crushed butts and loose wrappers that usually littered this neighborhood. Jason Todd was notoriously a clean freak.

"He hasn't changed much," Tim commented, slamming the car door. As they approached, he quickly muttered, "Ah heck. Doesn't he look sick to you?"

Indeed he did. His skin carried a greenish hue, like he was going to puke any second. Jason didn't react when they started climbing, just staring off into space. The cigarette lay forgotten between his fingers.

"Jay?"

No answer.

Both his adoptive brothers knew a flashback when they saw one. Sighing, Tim sat beside Jason, his expression morphed into one of extreme concern.

"Hey Jason," he spoke softly, trying not to startle him. He hesitated, then slowly removed the cancer stick and put it out.

Dick planted himself on the step below them. "Little Wing," he sighed, placing a comforting hand on his knee.

"If he's having episodes..." Tim trailed off.

Dick bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to finish the thought. They stayed like that for several minutes, until Jason came back to them...

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason, Jason, you're really in no condition to fight. That's why I'm putting you smack dab in the middle of several brawls. Sorry.
> 
> The cocktail "The Clown Prince" is real, try it here: https://youtu.be/9sRDCQMVoSo


End file.
